


Strange Wings

by Herenya_writes



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Assassination attempts, Bones is a Good Friend, Canon-Typical Violence, Jim's a prince, M/M, Political Intrigue, Royalty AU, Slow Burn, Spock's a visiting lord, same timeline(ish) as TOS tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes
Summary: When Prince James Tiberius Kirk meets Lord Spock, a Vulcan visiting Earth as part of a cultural exchange program, he doesn’t expect much to happen. Soon enough, however, the two are embroiled in a deadly game of political intrigue, and Jim sees assassins in every corner. Together, they must sort friend from foe before the assassin strikes again.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Other (previous), James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 177
Kudos: 163
Collections: T’hy’la Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of the T'hy'la Big Bang Challange 2020! Some gorgeous artwork was made for this story by the incredible @leifor on Tumblr, so check it out. [Please please please check out this amazing art!](https://leifor.tumblr.com/post/621280714911055872/my-entry-for-thylabang-im-so-happy-to-be-a) Also, this fic was beta'd by both @nightlybirdie and @marlinspirkhall on tumblr.
> 
> All unfamiliar Vulcan words that aren't explained in the story have a number (it was supposed to be a subscript but ao3 didn't let me) that corresponds with a number at the end of the chapter, where both the phrase and its translation are written. I apologize if that formatting bugs anyone.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_They say destiny flies on strange wings—holding true to its course across both time and space._ **

  
  


“Stop messin’ with your shirt, Jim,” a gruff voice said as Jim turned to examine himself in the mirror again, ignoring his best friend’s advice and plucking at the gold-trimmed sleeves of his outfit instead.

“Remind me again why I have to wear what looks like a stars-forsaken military uniform?” he threw over his shoulder as he refastened the gold knotting there. The dark grey uniform fit him perfectly, of course, but it was starched and uncomfortable, even more so than the rest of his formal outfits were.

Leonard stepped into his line of sight in the mirror and sighed, reaching out to straighten the knot. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it just might have something to do with the fact that you’re a prince, Jim.”

Jim rolled his eyes and turned away from the mirror. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, a military uniform should be worn by a military officer. If my father wanted to see me in uniform, he should have let me apply for the Academy a few months ago. It’s not like I’m needed around here, Bones.”

Bones shook his head. “Jim, we’ve danced this dance before, and I’d retrace it with you, but we don’t have time,” he stated, crossing his arms as Jim ran his hand over the uniform shirt for the fifth time. “Now put on your crown and get out of here. The dinner starts in twenty minutes.”

“It’s a coronet, actually,” Jim corrected automatically as he reached for the sleek grey circlet that hung haphazardly from his mirror. “And twenty minutes is plenty of time, although I bet Sam’s already there greeting people.” His brother always had been better at politicking and interacting with the court than he had, but as the crown prince it was Sam’s job to be the face of the family—a responsibility Jim had never envied.

“Just put it on,” Bones said with a shake of his head. “I know you don’t like these shindigs, but we both know this isn’t one you want to be late for.”

Jim turned back to his friend as he placed the coronet on his brow. The weight settled on him, and as melodramatic as it was, Jim swore it felt heavier than it had any right to be. He flashed Bones a smile to cover his sudden nerves. “Right, Sam’s leaving for three months, and I’m getting a babysitter.”

Bones snorted. “Maybe this Vulcan can keep you out of trouble for once in your life.”

Jim’s grin widened. “Are you implying that I have a tendency to cause trouble, Doctor McCoy?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

“Every damn day, my prince. Now get your royal behind to that dinner.”

“You sure you don’t want to come? Provide me with some moral support?”

“I’m a doctor, not a therapist. Now get going, and tell your brother goodbye for me.”

Jim sighed and straightened his coronet again. “Fine, but if I’m not back in four hours, you’d better come up with an excuse to rescue me. I don’t think Vulcans are fans of small talk.” Bones’s only reply was to shoo him out of the room, but there was a small smile on the doctor’s face as he closed the door, leaving Jim standing in the hall outside of his private rooms. He nodded to the guard standing at the door, straightened his shirt one last time, and made his way to the grand hall where the feast would be held.

. . .

As much as Jim complained to Bones about attending social events like this one, he tended to enjoy them once he was there, and the feast was no exception. Like all events held by his father, eating and small talk came first, and then the speeches and ceremonies, which meant that Jim had a chance to get to know some of the visitors before they were formally introduced.

His mother and father sat at the center of the long table, with him and Sam on either side, along with several members of his father’s council. Across from them sat the Vulcan delegation, and while he had been correct when he had told Bones that they weren’t prone to small talk, Jim had quickly found himself engrossed in conversation with the Vulcan directly across from him.

The man was young, maybe a few years older than himself, and Jim found himself drawn to him in a way he couldn’t quite describe. The conversation had started over something simple—Jim had asked if he liked the food—and now they were discussing the pros and cons of terraforming asteroids to preserve the surface of core worlds such as Earth and Vulcan.

“The concept is intriguing,” the Vulcan was saying, and although his voice had little inflection, Jim could tell he was interested in the subject, “but it has not proven a viable solution for populated planets that are a distance from a large concentration of asteroids.”

Jim nodded, spearing a carrot—Bones would be so proud of him—with his fork before replying, “True, but for inhabited space stations such as Yorktown, it would likely be more cost-effective than the current transportation system. At the rate the stations are growing now, the Federation will need another terraformed planet per station per sector before the decade is over.”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “The terraforming you propose would carry a significant expense to begin and would likely tax the limits of the Federation’s available terraforming experts.”

The carrots were delicious, not the Jim would ever admit that to Bones. He swallowed the bite he had been chewing and was about to mention the most recent study done on terraforming by one of Starfleet’s leading scientists when his father stood from his place at the table, tapping at his glass as he did so. In an instant, the large room fell silent as all eyes turned to George Kirk.

“Welcome, citizens and friends!” he declared, his voice carrying with ease across the large room. His father had always been able to command the attention of anyone he spoke with, and tonight was no different. “Tonight we have the honor of hosting Lord Sarek of Vulcan and other members of his household.” 

The Vulcan sitting across from Jim’s father stood, his dark grey robes sweeping around him as he did so. He raised his hand in some kind of a salute, and Jim suddenly felt sheepish. He should have done more research about Vulcan culture, especially since he would be working closely with one of the members of Sarek’s household…

Thankfully, his father had done more than his share of research—he always did, and it was a trait Jim strove to emulate—and copied the salute flawlessly, fingers parted in a V-shape. Then, Lord Sarek sat, and his father continued his speech.

“As you are all well aware, Earth and Vulcan have become fast allies in the past century, and it is well past time that our two cultures come to know one another as allies should,” his father stated, and the crowd murmured their agreement. “In that spirit, I have proposed an exchange that Lord Sarek has graciously agreed to. For the next three months, Prince Samuel will live on Vulcan and learn from the ambassadors and scholars there.” 

As his father said those words, Jim felt something in his chest tighten. He had known about Sam’s departure for the last two months, but now that his father had announced it, the reality of what was happening began to set in. His parents were sending Sam away, just like they had done with him nearly ten years ago. This time, however, Sam would be alone, with no aunt or uncle to help him adjust to whatever might happen while he was there. Vulcan was a peaceful planet—Jim knew that—but the anxiety remained. He pushed the feeling back and forced himself to listen once more to what his father was saying.

“—honored to host Lord Sarek’s son, Spock.” The lingering anxiety in Jim’s chest was chased away by a wave of embarrassment as the Vulcan that he had been speaking with just a few moments ago stood and gave the same salute that Lord Sarek had given. He really should have done his homework. Would Lord Spock—how did titles work on Vulcan?—be offended that he hadn’t recognized him?

Jim was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely even registered the fact that Spock had sat back down and his father was speaking once again. Instead of tuning back into his father’s speech, however, Jim carefully observed the Vulcan across from him.

Spock—Jim decided that he would worry about titles later—was the perfect image of stoicism. His posture was perfectly straight, so much so that Jim suspected if he placed a ruler next to the Vulcan’s spine he would be able to find the imperfections in the ruler, and his face was impassive. That impassiveness wasn’t the same as inattentiveness, however. Jim could see intelligence and calculation in Spock’s brown eyes as the Vulcan gazed up at his father. The lack of emotion in his face was somewhat unnerving, but Jim found himself drawn to it in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

He was still gazing at Spock when his father finally finished speaking. The Vulcan turned back to him slowly, and Jim couldn’t find it in himself to look away. Their eyes stayed locked for a long second, and then the crystalline sound of a chime broke the air, and the moment was gone. Jim turned to see his mother raising an eyebrow at him, which he ignored in favor of standing to find Sam. Now that the dinner was over and the Vulcans had been introduced, a dance would begin that would last well into the night, and he wanted to speak to his brother before Sam disappeared.

He found Sam leaning against a pillar at the edge of the room, watching as all of the tables were quickly removed to make room for the ballroom floor. “Do you think they have dances on Vulcan?” Jim asked with a grin as he stepped up next to his older brother. Sam rolled his eyes without looking at him.

“Given how taboo physical contact is for them, I would say no,” he replied shortly, but there was affection in his words. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, but Jim knew that his brother was thinking of the same thing he was, the same thing that had caused anxiety to coil in his chest like a snake squeezing the life out of its next meal.

“Jim, I know—”

“Sam, please—”

They both stopped, and a small smile curled at Jim’s lips as he gestured for his older brother to speak first. “I’m going to be fine, Jim. I promise. It’s only for three months, and Vulcan is one of the most advanced planets in the galaxy. Nothing will happen.” Not like last time. Those words went unspoken, but Jim could read them in the crease of his brother’s brow. They never talked about Tarsus, not anymore, but Jim knew that there was some part of his brother’s mind that still saw the emaciated kid he had been when he had finally been rescued from that forsaken colony. 

Forcing a smile onto his face that he didn’t really feel, Jim clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Well, I still say you’ll come back with a nasty sunburn. I don’t care what M’Benga said about the sunscreen he gave you; it’s not going to be enough. You’re going to come back as red as a lobster.”

Sam’s eyes were still concerned, but he let the subject drop and put on a smile of his own. “Thirty credits says you’re wrong—I’ll come back with a tan even you’ll be jealous of.”

This time, the grin on Jim’s face was real, and he punched his brother in the shoulder. “It’s a deal. If I win, I’m sending a holo pic to Aurelan.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Jim laughed, the rich sound chasing away the lingering panic in his chest. “I would,” he declared as soon as he caught his breath. “My future sister-in-law deserves to know exactly what she’s getting herself into with you. After all, she can’t plan a honeymoon to the beach if her husband’s going to join the sea-life while she’s there.”

Sam rolled his eyes again. He had always been the better of the two of them at proper court etiquette, but that was one habit he had never been able to break, especially when it came to Jim. “It’s nothing official yet, you know that.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “She turned down three suitors in as many months, Sam, and even Dad agrees that it’s a good match. Everyone’s just waiting for you to realize just how head over heels you are. If you don’t propose when you get back, I’m going to do it for you.”

There was a faint blush creeping up his brother’s face now, as he shook his head. Other than that, however, Sam didn’t protest Jim’s words, and Jim’s grin grew. “Just make sure you remember to video your actual family as well as your girlfriend while you’re gone.”

Sam’s expression grew serious, and he pushed off of the pillar so that he was standing directly across from Jim, one hand on his shoulder. “I will, I promise,” he declared softly, and Jim allowed hope to take root in his chest. Sam had never broken a promise to him before, and he knew his brother wouldn’t start now. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Before Jim could reply, one of the members of the Vulcan delegation strode over, and Jim quickly excused himself. He caught Sam’s eye one last time and they shared a nod before his brother turned away and quickly became engrossed in conversation with the Vulcan who had approached him.

. . .

Spock did not understand the human desire to dance. As the son of a prominent ambassador, he had been instructed in a number of dancing styles from a number of cultures, but he had never desired to do so as a source of entertainment. On Vulcan, most dances were ritualistic in nature, and none of them involved such close contact with others as most human dances did. In the center of the room, humans alternated between twirling across the floor and swaying together, their bodies mere centimeters apart in places and their hands in near-constant contact with one another. It was fascinating.

He had never been to Earth until today, despite his mother’s heritage and the close ties of Vulcan and Earth. The fact that the humans had been allies of the Vulcans for over one hundred years was common knowledge. For a human, the amount of time was considerable, and it made the current situation a novelty—in all the years that Vulcan and Earth had been allies, a Vulcan had never stayed on the planet for an extended amount of time. Humans, such as his mother, had traveled to Vulcan in small numbers, but there had been no movement from Vulcan to Earth.

Spock knew that most Vulcans considered humans too emotional and illogical to endure for long periods of time, but he also knew that he was in a unique position to understand their other traits as well. For once, his half-blooded nature would be a boon.

That nature did not make the incredible emotionalism of the room any easier to manage, however.

After the dinner, he had lingered to speak with his father, the high prince, and the king to discuss the final details of the exchange. Then, he had retreated to the side of the room to observe the other participants of the evening. He was still doing so—eyes locked on a pair of women who were twirling one another with an ease that made their dance seem almost scientific—when a voice at his side drew his attention back to his surroundings. 

“Not a fan of dancing, Lord Spock?”

Spock turned to see the younger Kirk prince approaching, a smile on his face. For a moment, Spock studied that smile before replying. It was an open display of emotion and would never be seen on Vulcan, but he could sense some emotion other than happiness hiding underneath it. 

“It is not an event that I find stimulating, your highness,” Spock finally replied, bowing his head slightly to the other man, his hands still clasped behind his back. “However, the skill of many of the members of your court is considerable.”

The prince turned to survey the center of the room where a dozen pairs of dancers spun, and Spock could see a softness come to his eyes as he nodded. “It certainly is. I firmly believe that Lady Uhura could dance for three days straight and not get tired.” The man chuckled and turned back to Spock, who couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the illogical hyperbole in the prince’s words.

There was silence between them for a moment, but then the prince shifted on his feet and said, “I wanted to apologize for not addressing you properly earlier.” His gaze met Spock’s and although Spock could see uncertainty there the man did not look away. “To be completely honest, I didn’t recognize you.”

Spock was surprised. He had not considered their earlier conversation disrespectful or out of the range of proper etiquette for Vulcan, and as far as he was aware the same held true according to Earth customs as well.

“There is no need to apologize, your highness,” he replied. “I took no offense at your actions. Our conversation was intellectually rewarding, and you provided a point of view on the issue that I had not previously considered.” Spock had read all of the available information he could about James Kirk, but none of it had deigned to mention his considerable intellect, which he privately believed to be a mistake.

The prince smiled again, and this time, the expression seemed entirely genuine. “I’m glad. Hopefully, I won’t bore you over the next few months while you’re here.”

Spock felt a smile pulling at his lips, which he carefully pushed aside before replying, “I believe my time on Earth will be sufficiently engaging. There is much with which I can occupy my attention.” His eyes swept back over the room, alive with sounds and movement, so fundamentally different from a political gathering on Vulcan. 

His words elicited another chuckle from the prince at his side. “Yes, there is.” Then, the prince surprised him yet again by holding up his hand in a hesitant but accurate ta’al. “I’ll see you at the departure ceremony tomorrow. Have a good evening, Lord Spock.”

Spock copied the gesture. “And you, my prince.”

The prince smiled once again and then turned away. Before long, the grey and gold of his outfit had disappeared into the crowd, and Spock turned away. As he did so, however, he noted with some surprise that he was looking forward to interacting with the prince again.

. . .

Anxiety and fear warred in Jim’s stomach, each trying to claim more territory than the other until Jim felt certain that he was going to throw up his breakfast. At his side, Sam seemed to notice that something was wrong, but Jim shot him his best fake smile—it was the one he always practiced in the mirror before talking about politics with members of the press—and pushed the feeling down. Everything was going to be fine. Sam was going to spend a few months on Vulcan, a well-equipped, peaceful planet, and then he was going to come home. That was that.

As Jim forced his anxiety to subside, the rumble of an approaching shuttle filled the air, and Jim unconsciously took a few steps back. Half a minute later, a sleek white shuttlecraft set down on the pad that had been built behind the castle specifically for that purpose.

“Looks like your ride’s here, Sam,” he declared, smiling a little too wide as he turned to his older brother and clapped him on the shoulder. His parents had left earlier that morning to attend a last-minute conference with the high king and other kingdom leaders, which meant it was just him, Sam, and the Vulcan delegation on the pad.

“I’ll be fine, Jim. I promise,” Sam said softly, echoing his words from the night before, and just like the night before Jim deflected his brother’s concern.

“I still expect holo-pics of your horrible sunburn every week.”

Sam’s eyes stayed solemn. “I promise.”

Then the shuttle doors slid open, and from over Sam’s shoulder, Jim saw the Vulcan delegation begin to board the craft. The snakes in his stomach curled tighter, and his grip on Sam’s shoulder tightened for an instant before he let go and gave him a gentle push.

“Go on. The Vulcans might leave you behind if you don’t hurry up,” he urged, injecting playfulness into his voice that he didn’t feel.

Sam stayed still for another moment, dark eyes sweeping over Jim’s face. Then, he nodded. “I love you, Jim,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jim’s throat constricted and he was unable to do anything more than nod. Then, his brother turned away, and Jim watched as he walked the few meters to the shuttle and climbed inside. The doors began to slide shut, and Jim was just able to see his brother wave back at him one more time before they closed completely. 

Two minutes later, the shuttle took off, carrying Sam away with it. Jim watched it for as long as he could, and when it finally disappeared he swallowed down the lump in his throat and turned to Spock who stood a few meters away.

“Well, Lord Spock. It looks like it’s just you and me now,” he declared, and if his voice shook slightly as he spoke the Vulcan didn’t mention it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock become closer. Jim has a Realization.

Two weeks later, Jim began to fall into a routine. His parents had returned from their brief trip a week before and as such, he wasn’t required to be present at all of the meetings that were being held. 

_ “My father has excused me from the majority of the meetings for the next several weeks—there’s nothing too important that I’m aware of coming up—but you’re welcome to attend them without me since that’s kind of the reason why you’re here.” _

_ Spock tilted his head ever-so-slightly to the side. “If you are amenable, I find that I would prefer to remain at your side, regardless of the schedule.” _

Jim had agreed after a brief moment of shock, and now the two of them had begun to work side by side with an ease that was almost unnatural.

Spock’s quarters were near his own, and in the morning they would meet in the hallway and then head to breakfast. Spock would eat some vegetarian meal or another, Jim would have a ham and egg biscuit, and then they would go to the library, a meeting, visit a museum, or drop in on the various science labs nearby. Today, they had gone to the library.

The library was one of Jim’s favorite places to spend his free time. The natural lighting of the large arching windows made the space feel open despite its small size, and the smell of the books—actual paper and ink books—always set his mind at ease. It also helped that the chairs were large and cushioned, unlike so many of the other seats in the castle. Currently, he was sunk into one, pouring over a book about Earth’s history of spaceflight.

His mind was in the stars when Spock’s deep voice broke the quiet and startled him back to Earth.

“I must admit that I do not see the appeal of physical books,” he stated, his voice soft but still carrying easily across the space between them. “It is far more convenient and logical to carry a PADD that is pre-loaded with the texts you desire to read.” Jim glanced across the large oaken table that separated them at the PADD Spock held and shrugged.

“You’re right; it’s easier to carry around one PADD than to carry a stack of books or visit a library whenever you want to read something,” he admitted easily, closing his own book and setting it to the side so that he could focus his attention on Spock. “But there’s something about holding a physical book in my hand, being able to turn the pages and feel the paper, that just can’t be replicated by a PADD. It’s an emotional attachment of some kind, I suppose,” he mused, his lips twisting up in a small grin. 

Before Spock had arrived, Jim had known that Vulcans prized logic over emotion to the point of considering most emotions useless, but he had seen the little flashes in Spock’s eyes. He had a suspicion that Vulcans, or at least this Vulcan, felt emotions, and felt them strongly. They had simply learned to control them in a way that most humans had never bothered to do, and Jim was quite honestly fascinated by it.

Spock nodded as if he had expected Jim’s response and the emotions attached to it. “That is a reasonable explanation. Although they are not practical for everyday use, the Vulcan High Council keeps an archive of hand-written and printed texts, some of which predate Surak.”

Jim nodded. He had read about Surak, the father of logic on Vulcan. Before he had had his logical epiphany, Vulcan had been tumultuous, from what Jim could tell. There weren’t very many records of life before then, at least, there weren’t very many that were available to him. Vulcan records in general were difficult to get a hold of, and ones from before Surak were nearly impossible to find.

“What kind of texts do you have from before Surak?” he asked, hoping that his words wouldn’t offend Spock. They had gotten closer in the past two weeks, having dropped the formalities of titles and had become comfortable with asking one another questions about their culture and lifestyle, but Jim was still afraid that he might push too hard. It was a thin line to walk, and Spock was more than capable of shutting him out at any moment.

Thankfully, Spock didn’t seem upset when he set aside his PADD and tilted his head. He thought for a moment before saying, “Most of the surviving scripts are descriptions of ancient Vulcan rites and ceremonies, few of which are still practiced. However, there is also a significant collection of pre-Surakian poetry in the archive, although I do not believe that it has been accessed with any regularity in many years.”

Jim couldn’t stop the small grin that played at his lips as he pictured Spock sitting in some small room in his fancy robes reading poetry. Something about the image was absurd, and yet it also seemed completely natural. Jim thought about asking if Spock had read any of the texts himself but dismissed the question as too personal and instead asked, “Has the entire archive been digitized?”

Spock nodded, the movement sharp and precise just like everything else the Vulcan did. “It has. It was the work of many decades and very careful restoration by a number of Vulcan scholars. The entire archive is available via PADD download to any Vulcan citizen.”

“Vulcan citizen? I guess that rules me out,” he said with a quiet laugh, then he picked up his book again, intending to go back to reading about the first contact between humans and Vulcans. His hand froze half-way between the table and his lap, however, when Spock spoke again.

“I could acquire a number of texts for you if you desire.” Jim’s head whipped up, and he nearly dropped his book in surprise. “However, I would have to request that you not copy them or distribute them to others.”

For a few seconds, Jim could only blink. From what he understood about Vulcan culture and Vulcans in general, they were very private about themselves and their history. Not secretive, really, just reserved. Jim wanted to believe that Spock’s offer was a sign of his trust in him, which Jim was honored to have. He had known the Vulcan for two weeks, and yet he was certain that Spock was not the kind of man to do anything—much less bestow his trust to someone—lightly. 

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” he finally managed to say, smiling slightly. He still hadn’t figured out if his emotional displays were okay with Spock and had taken to dialing them back a little, although the Vulcan hadn’t mentioned them yet. 

“Is there any subject in particular that you would like to study?”

Jim thought about that for a few moments. What he really wanted to read were some of the pre-Surakian poems, but he had a feeling asking for those right away would offend Spock’s modern Vulcan sensibilities. No, his time would be better spent learning about Spock’s culture, the foundations of his beliefs, and what better place to start than the father of logic himself?

“What about some of the writings of Surak?” he suggested. As soon as the words left his lips, however, he realized a major flaw in his plan and felt his cheeks burn. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just stick to the library here.”

Spock raised an eyebrow in a manner that Jim had come to interpret as a question.

“If the scripts were written by Surak, then they predate the First Contact, which means that they’re written in Vulcan.” The blush deepened, and Jim cursed himself for not paying closer attention in all of those classes he had taken about controlling his outward expressions. “I only read Standard, English, and a handful of French and German. I can speak about a half-dozen more languages passably, but…” His voice trailed off as he saw Spock tilt his head.

“I can acquire Standard translations of the texts,” he stated, and Jim felt the blush begin to fade as relief flooded him. “And if you desire, I could teach you the basics of the Vulcan language while I reside on Earth. It seems a logical exchange considering the purpose of my stay.”

Jim forced himself to conceal the large grin that threatened to paint itself across his face at the suggestion. It was a simple offer, really, but it felt significant. “I’d love that, Spock,” he finally replied, allowing a fraction of his smile to appear. “If you would like, I can request an hour or two of our schedules blocked out for it so that no one schedules any meetings for us during that time.”

Spock nodded. “That would be acceptable.” Although the words themselves were said with little inflection, Jim could see a slight twitch in the corners of the Vulcan’s mouth and knew that although he would never say it, Spock was actually  _ pleased... _ or at the very least content.

The Vulcan picked up his PADD once more, their conversation concluded, but Jim suddenly found that reading an account of the First Contact for the fiftieth time wasn’t nearly as appealing as watching Spock. 

Vulcans, Jim had noticed, were beautiful, pointed ears and perfectly straight bowl-cuts included. Bones disagreed, said they reminded him of hobgoblins from his grandmother’s bedtime stories, but there was a grace about them that was undeniable. Jim had first noticed it at the dinner when Lord Sarek and his retinue had first arrived, but after spending so much time with Spock over the last two weeks, Jim realized that there was something more to it than grace. It was in the way Spock moved, yes, but it was also in the way he spoke, in the way he sat, in the way he ate and the way he stood. He was different, so different from anyone Jim had ever known, and it was gorgeous.

Jim gasped quietly, a rush of air escaping him as that last thought crossed his mind. Did he just think of Spock as gorgeous? The Vulcan in question looked up, one perfect eyebrow raised in a silent question, and Jim had to resist the urge to groan out loud. Yup. Gorgeous.

“Are you alright, Jim?” Spock asked, and Jim had to fight back the blush that threatened to stain his cheeks for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just remembered something I have to do later today, that’s all,” he lied, praying the Vulcan wouldn’t press the issue. Thankfully, Spock just nodded and turned his attention back to his PADD, his eyes moving across the screen with remarkable speed.

Jim picked up his own book and sank even further into the chair, half-hoping it would swallow him whole. He was not a stranger to attraction—it had actually earned him a bit of a reputation as a skirt-chaser, which was not entirely false—nor was he a stranger to being attracted to males. He was, however, a stranger to being attracted to visiting diplomats who most certainly would not appreciate the affections of someone as emotional as himself. He groaned inwardly. Bones was going to have a field day when he found out.

Thankfully, he was saved from his embarrassment a few minutes later when the glass doors to the library were pushed open, and a large man walked in, a smile on his bearded face. “Are you trying to skip on me, James Kirk?” his deep voice boomed, startling Jim from his self-pity. 

Jim jumped to his feet. “Of course not, Captain! I thought we were scheduled for Thursdays,” he declared as he quickly put his book to the side and adjusted his tunic into something marginally more presentable.

Captain Gil Arthurson, head of the Kirk family’s personal guard, gave Jim a long look. “It is Thursday, James,” he stated in a deadpan, muscled arms crossed in front of him. “You didn’t show up last week because Algers had you in that meeting and the week before was the day your brother left.”

A sheepish smile appeared on Jim’s face. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that Captain. Let me go get changed and I’ll meet you in the gym in ten minutes?” 

The captain just chuckled in response, turning and striding out the doors before Jim could defend himself further. Jim stared after him for a few seconds before turning to face Spock, who was looking at him over the top of his PADD, one eyebrow raised in an amused question.

“Sorry about this, Spock. I completely forgot I had training with Arthurson today.” He picked up the book in front of him, more to have something to do with his hands than anything else. Stars, he must seem like an absolute mess to Spock. “You can stay here if you want, or not. I should be done in an hour and a half or so, and then I have that meeting with my father about the Restar relations and—” Jim cut off his rambling abruptly and refused to meet Spock’s eyes.

When the Vulcan spoke, however, he didn’t sound disgusted by Jim’s lack of control. Instead, Jim could hear a hint of amusement in his words as he said, “If you are not averse to my presence, I would like to observe your training. I am certain it is quite different from the physical training that occurs on Vulcan.”

Jim blinked. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine with me, Spock. Just don’t think too much less of me when Arthurson kicks my butt, alright? He’s never let me win a fight in my life.”

Spock’s only reply was a nod, and Jim’s eyes might have been fooling him, but he could have sworn that for an instant, a small smile crossed the Vulcan’s impassive face.

. . .

Spock watched with fascination as Prince James—he had requested to be called Jim whenever the circumstances allowed, but Spock found that to be a difficult habit to acquire even in his own mind—swiped his foil through the air in front of Captain Arthurson. The two had been fencing for several minutes, the captain calling out adjustments and critiques to the prince’s form every now and then.

Although Prince James—Jim—had claimed to be a poor fencer when the two had walked from his quarters to the large gymnasium, he was performing adequately against the captain despite the fact that the other man obviously had many more years of experience in the sport. 

Finally, their dance came to a close as the captain scored another hit on Jim, making the overall score 15-12, with the captain as the victor, as Jim had predicted before they had begun. Both participants pushed up their masks, and even from where Spock sat several meters away, he could see a brightness in Jim’s eyes that had not been there before, his face flushed and lips pulled up in a wide smile despite his loss.

“You won, Gil, like always,” he declared with a chuckle, walking across the space to where the case for his foil sat. “Although I’d like to think I’m getting better, even if it’s been two weeks since I last practiced.” There was laughter in the prince’s voice, as there often seemed to be.

The large captain’s back was turned to Spock, but in his stance he could read a satisfaction that had nothing to do with the man’s latest victory. He did not know the history that this man had with Jim, but it was obvious that he was proud of the prince’s accomplishments, as well he should be. 

“It took me nearly two minutes longer than last time to beat you, James. That’s quite a feat.” Yes, Spock could hear the pride in his voice, the respect. “Next time, though, focus on being quicker on your feet. Your footwork is just as important as everything else, and that applies to more than just fencing.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim replied, and although there was still a smile on his face, his voice was serious, and Spock was struck by how humble the prince was. He had performed well, and yet he put aside any pride he had at his accomplishment to accept the criticism of his instructor. It was a simple act, and yet Spock could feel his respect for the prince grow as he listened to the captain give him several more suggestions for improvement and watched as Jim listened to and acknowledged each one.

As a prince of one of the most influential kingdoms on Earth, Jim held a position of considerable authority. Yet he never seemed to consider his own relative importance when interacting with others. Instead, he treated everyone with respect and seemed to genuinely consider all the opinions and advice given to him by others, regardless of their rank or the circumstances. 

His eyes were still on Jim when the captain turned around and started, as if he had forgotten that Spock was there. The man blinked once, and then a slow smile crept over his face which Spock could not quite interpret. “Do you fence, Lord Spock?” the man asked, the pitch of his voice somehow different than it had been when he had been instructing Jim just a few seconds earlier.

Before Spock had the chance to answer, Jim broke in, a strange mix of what Spock believed to be both fear and amusement in his voice. “Gil! Don’t you dare!” 

The captain ignored Jim’s outburst and repeated the question.

“Fencing as you practice it does not exist on Vulcan,” Spock replied warily, unsure of the intention of the man’s question. “However, there are several similar activities, and I have an adequate understanding of Terran fencing. I have never participated.”

From over the captain’s shoulder, Spock could see Jim leveling a glare at his instructor, although there was not enough intensity in the gaze for Spock to believe the man to truly be upset. He still did not understand why the captain’s words would have that effect on Jim, however. The line of questioning was not disrespectful, nor was it out of place considering the setting of the conversation.

Then, the captain’s smile grew, and he spoke again. “I’m sure James can teach you the basics. Why don’t the two of you go a few rounds? It’ll help James to explain the techniques to someone else.”

Spock tilted his head slightly but was once again prevented from replying by Jim’s voice. “Come on, Gil, he’s not dressed for fencing,” the prince declared, striding across the area where they had been fencing until he was level with the captain. “If you really want me to explain techniques to someone I can grab one of the guards outside.”

“I am not averse to fencing with you, my prince,” Spock stated, rising from his place on the floor. “And my apparel is of no concern. I can simply remove my outermost robe. You need not trouble anyone else.” He had taken to wearing several layers of clothing while on Earth to compensate for the cooler temperatures that humans seemed to prefer.

There was something in Jim’s gaze that Spock could not decipher. “Are you certain you don’t mind?” Spock nodded. “Fine then. Get changed and grab a mask. I’ll get you a foil.” Jim turned and strode back across the mat to where his own foil was resting in its case. 

. . .

He was used to Gil pulling stunts like this, and usually, he didn’t mind them. The old captain was right when he said that explaining techniques helped improve his own, as much as Jim hated doing it. This, though, was a little different. For a reason Jim didn’t want to think about right now, he really didn’t want to make a fool out of himself in front of Spock. He already had enough traits going against him, and he didn’t want to add ‘horrible fencer and even worse teacher’ to the list. 

But Gil was a force to be reckoned with, and the second Jim had seen that look in his face—it was the look the captain always used on his father when he tried to reject a security detail—he had known arguing was pointless. He had better just get this over with. The sooner begun, the sooner done, right?

When Jim turned around, a foil in each hand, he had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from dropping. For the past two weeks, he hadn’t seen Spock in anything other than large Vulcan robes with varying levels of adornment. They were beautifully made, but they gave no hint at the figure beneath them. Now, however, Spock was standing across the mat from him in dark pants and a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged his arms and torso and quite definitively proved that Jim’s imagination was no match for reality. 

Before he could make a fool out of himself by blurting out something that would make Spock hate him forever, Jim half-walked half-trotted over and thrust the spare foil into the Vulcan’s waiting hand. “Here you go!” he said with a too-bright smile. “Do you want me to show you a couple of the stances and attacks first?” Spock nodded, and Jim threw himself into explaining every aspect of fencing he could think of, forcing his eyes not to linger on Spock every time he adjusted the Vulcan’s stance, careful to keep any contact between them brief and respectful.

About twenty minutes later, Gil spoke up for the first time since he started this whole mess. “Alright, James, I think Lord Spock gets the point. Why don’t the two of you try some practical applications for a few minutes.” Jim turned to Spock and raised an eyebrow—it was a pale approximation of the Vulcan’s typical expression—in question. Spock nodded once.

“Alright, Captain. How’s a three-minute assault sound?”

The man nodded, his neatly-cut grey beard bobbing with the movement. “I’ll call time. Take your places.”

Jim moved to the opposite side of the mat, away from where he had been teaching Spock and turned around, settling into the starting stance. Spock copied his movements and a few seconds later Gil called the start.

Vulcan grace, as it turned out, applied to fencing as well. Jim hadn’t expected anything different, but he couldn’t help but be amazed by how Spock’s feet seemed to barely touch the ground as he moved, flowing between stances, attacks, and defenses with an ease that most people didn’t develop for months at the very least.

Jim was so distracted he didn’t parry in time to avoid one of Spock’s thrusts, and he swore he could make out the barest hint of a smirk on Spock’s face through the mask. His own lips twisted upward even as his eyes narrowed. Alright then, if that’s how Spock wanted to play…

Three minutes passed in a blur of shifting feet and flashing metal. When Gil called a stop, Jim was breathing hard and grinning widely. Spock had managed to get one more hit on him while they had danced, but he had gotten four in total on the Vulcan. He knew that was nothing to be proud of since Spock hadn’t ever fenced before, but he couldn’t help it. 

“You’re a quick study, Lord Spock,” Jim declared, pushing his mask up off his face. “Not that I expected anythi—” The words died in his throat. Spock had removed his own mask, and that sleek black hair that always looked so perfect was ever so slightly disheveled. Not nearly as much as Jim knew his own was, but the sight of it made the butterflies in Jim’s stomach start fluttering around in a frantic scramble. It was such a small thing, but it made Spock more…real somehow. He wasn’t some ethereal being, untouched by the world around him.

“Thank you, my prince.” The Vulcan’s deep voice snapped Jim from his thoughts and he quickly schooled his expression into something more acceptable than the completely awestruck look he suspected had adorned it a moment before. “I appreciate your patience in your instruction. Captain Arthurson has reason to be proud of his own tutelage.”

Well, there went Jim’s collected expression. He could feel the blush staining his cheeks red and desperately hoped that Spock would just chalk it up to the physical exertion of the last three minutes. 

“That’s all James, Lord Spock,” came Gil’s gruff voice. “Once he puts it in his mind to master something, he will, no matter how long it takes.” There was an expression close to a smile on the captain’s face, and his brown eyes sparkled with amusement and something Jim dared to call pride. “Now, I believe you have a meeting to get to, James.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Right! See you later Gil, Spock.” He waved at them both then quickly dashed across the mat to put away his foil. He was going to be late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones is a fabulous friend. Spock begins to edge toward a realization, but he's repressed, so...

“Well, Jimbo, this is something else.”

Jim let out a deep groan and buried his face in his hands, nearly knocking over the glass of bourbon in front of him. It had been three days since The Realization, as Jim had decided to call it, and he had finally had an evening off to talk to his best friend and Bones had immediately begun to tease him about it, as Jim had known he would.

“Don’t you have any useful advice?” he asked, still not lifting his head from his hands. “Because I really need some.”

“Damn right you do,” the doctor grumbled, taking a quick gulp of his drink. “The hobgoblin, Jim, really? Of all the people here, you had to go and develop a crush on  _ him _ ? You’re no slob, but I really don’t think you’re his type. Do Vulcans even have types? Or do they just hook up with the most logical match…” Bones’ voice faded away, and Jim resisted the urge to groan again.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me I needed to find someone new after Laura ended things between us,” Jim argued, but even to himself, his voice sounded weak.

Bones glared at him and took a long swig. Once he set the glass back down he shook his head and said, “I meant you should start looking for someone to settle down with, not that you should go pining after some Vulcan lord.” Jim buried his face even further. “You’re a prince, Jim. You don’t have the luxury of playing the field forever.”

“Sam isn’t married yet,” Jim protested through his fingers. “And I’m only twenty-two. I have some time before I have to worry about all of that.”

Bones waved his hand in a vague gesture of surrender. “Fine.” He took another swig. “Look, this crush’ll pass soon enough. You’ll realize that logic of his is too irritating or the culture shock’ll throw you off or somethin’. You’ve been through this before—you’ll be fine.”

Jim pulled his head out of his hands and reached for his glass. He didn’t drink though, staring down at the amber liquid as it sloshed slowly around in the bottom. Normally, when these kinds of things happened, he came to Bones, they both got thoroughly drunk, and within a few days, whatever unadvisable infatuation he had been fixating on was gone. Laura had been an exception to that—they had dated for a little less than a year before she broke things off about eight months ago—but in general, he fell hard, fast, and then a few days later it was gone.

The problem was that this was far from a typical situation.

Most of the time, his eyes would be drawn to a visiting lady or lord from one of the other Earth kingdoms or an ambassador who was in town for a week or so. He would see them, talk to them, fall for them, and then a few days later they would be gone and he would be free to move his attention to someone new. That was just the way it worked. This time though, Spock wasn’t going anywhere. Not for another two and a half months. Jim wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide his crush that long, and the thought of Spock finding out was so mortifying it made Jim want to shoot himself into a black hole.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll blame you,” Jim grumbled good-naturedly, knowing his words would bring a scowl to his friend’s face, which they did.

“How in the hell is this my fault?” he asked indignantly, but Jim could see the humor in the man’s eyes. That was how they dealt with these kinds of things, they laughed about them. If things really got serious, they would talk again, but for now, Jim decided it was time to move the conversation to something less embarrassing than his unrequited crush.

“I don’t know, Bones. I’ll figure something out,” he declared, waving a hand. Then he changed the subject by asking, “Have you finished your application to Starfleet Academy yet?”

Bones grumbled something and took a long drink of his bourbon, which was nearly empty now. He reached for the bottle to pour himself another glass, but Jim moved it away. They both had things to do in the morning, and he knew the doctor didn’t want to be waking up with a headache. 

“Come on, Bones, you and I both know your skills are wasted here,” Jim said as he set the bottle just out of his friend’s reach. “You’d be able to help thousands, millions of people as a doctor in Starfleet.” Jim couldn’t help the grin that spread onto his face as he pictured his friend, dressed in the medical blues of a Starfleet doctor delivering medicine and working side by side with some of the most brilliant minds in the Federation.

“Jim. Space is dark and cold and dangerous,” the doctor declared, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I am perfectly happy where I am, thank you very much.” 

This was an argument they had several times over the past few months, and just like always, Jim refused to give in so easily. “One of us needs to go to space, and if it can’t be me—” he ignored the way his gut clenched at the words, refusing to let his easy grin falter— “it has to be you.”

Bones sighed heavily. “You know I’d go to the academy with you if your father would let you, Jim. Despite the fact that I hate just about everything there is to hate about space.” He paused, and Jim had to resist the urge to squirm under his friend’s piercing gaze. “But he won’t, and I’m not leaving you here alone. Heaven only knows what kind of trouble you’d get up to then.”

Jim shrugged lightly. “You never know, Sam could come back from Vulcan with all the logic and skills of a Vulcan, and then he wouldn’t need me to be his advisor,” he reasoned, his voice carefully casual. “Or maybe he’ll finally marry Aurelan and then her brother can take my place. Or Laura. You know how much better at strategic planning she is than me.” He gazed across the table at Bones, giving him the puppy dog look that nearly always managed to win over the doctor. “At least finish filling out the application, even if you don’t send it. Please?”

Another long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll finish it after the meeting tomorrow.” Jim tried not to grin too widely. “Speaking of, is Lord Spock coming to that meeting?”

Jim allowed the subject to change with a nod. “Yeah. He seemed interested in the report you have on the Crythn virus. And I told him I wanted to introduce him to Laura.”

Bones raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you seem excited to introduce your crush to your ex-girlfriend.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome. Now, what did you tell our resident hobgoblin about my presentation? I’m not about to fail some kind of Vulcan logic test here, am I?”

Jim laughed, and the two spent the next few hours talking about the upcoming meeting, local news, and other subjects. Eventually, however, the conversation turned to Sam, and how he was doing on Vulcan.

“Has he sent many messages?” Bones asked. They had relocated from the table in Bones’ small kitchen to his living room. Jim was sprawled out on his couch, and the doctor was sitting across from him in a large recliner that Jim had always thought vaguely resembled a giant light grey slug.

“One a week, just like he promised,” Jim replied, stretching his arms behind his head. “They’re pretty short, but he always sends a picture to show off his non-existent tan. Last time he was standing outside of what I think was one of the Vulcan research centers. He looks happy.” He cracked his neck and grinned a little. “Aurelan messaged me and said he calls her every other day, though.”

Bones was quiet for a few moments. Jim didn’t turn to look at him; he knew what his friend was thinking about, and quite honestly, he didn’t want to have that discussion right now. Finally, Jim heard Bones shift in his seat and say, “Well, it sounds like he’s doin’ pretty good, even if he is surrounded by a bunch of hobgoblins.”

Jim barked out a chuckle. “Yeah. He’s always been good at that part of being royalty, though. Closing off his emotions.”

Bones grunted in reply, something he only did when he wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation on hand. Jim let out a heavy sigh and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch to look his friend in the eyes.

“I’m fine, Bones. I promise.” The doctor didn’t look convinced, a heavy frown pulling his lips and eyebrows down. “Listen, Tarsus messed me up. I know that, you know that, Sam knows that. But Sam isn’t on Tarsus, and nothing like that could ever happen on a core planet of the Federation, much less on Vulcan of all places. So just...leave it alone. Please.” He dropped his gaze, studying the horrible rug on the floor. Stars he hated feeling like this—like he was broken and had to be coddled by someone else. Bones was just trying to look out for him, and he knew that, but some days he wished that his friend had never found out what had happened on Tarsus.

His eyes were tracing the slightly-frayed edge of the rug nearest him when Bones spoke again. “Alright, Jim. I’ll leave it alone.” He paused, and without looking up Jim could picture the way his friend was frowning. “Just promise me you’ll talk to someone if you need to. It doesn’t have to be me.”

Jim pulled his eyes from the ground to meet his friend’s. “I will,” he promised, even though just saying those two words made his stomach roil as if he had just eaten bad sushi. 

They ended up talking until nearly one in the morning, although thankfully they had both had the sense to put all alcohol out of their reach so when Jim was stumbling back to his room, it was because he was exhausted, not because he was drunk. He was so exhausted, in fact, that he nearly opened the door to Spock’s room instead of his own. His hand was on the knob when he realized he had stopped too soon and he snatched it back as if he had been burned. Blushing to the roots of his hair, he ignored the not-so-subtle looks of the two guardsmen in the hallway and fled to his room, closing the door behind himself and collapsing on the bed without so much as taking off his shoes.

He was asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

. . .

Vulcans, as a rule, required less sleep than humans did, although Spock had learned during the last few weeks that the sleeping habits of individual humans varied greatly. Still, Spock did not require as much rest as those around him, and so he had taken to setting aside the nighttime as his time for regular meditation, interrupted by the occasional need to sleep.

Meditating on Earth was different from meditating on Vulcan. There was more oxygen on Earth, and although he had adjusted to this change during his everyday living, he found that the imbalance still disturbed him while he was meditating. The extra oxygen made his typical long, deep breaths unnecessary, and the change in rhythm made it more difficult for him to achieve deep meditation. It was illogical—he should not need to rely on an unchanged breathing pattern to meditate properly—but it was. Kaiidth 1 .

This evening, it was more difficult to reach the deepest level of meditation than it had been on previous nights, and after a careful examination, he found the source of his mind’s disturbance—Prince James Kirk.

Typically when he meditated, Spock would review the events of the day, catalog the most important for preservation, and dismiss them, allowing his mind to focus on the rhythm of his body instead. Recently, however, he found that his thoughts lingered on the prince for longer than should have been necessary. It was concerning, and Spock wondered if it was an effect of his extended stay on Earth. That hypothesis did not account for why his mind had chosen the prince of all the people he had thus far encountered to fixate upon, however.

Prince James—Jim—was an intriguing person, of that there was no doubt. Several times throughout the day Spock found himself fascinated by his approach to life as well as his exceedingly sharp intellect, something that the man seemed to make an effort to disguise for reasons Spock had not been able to determine. Jim did not lack ways in which to occupy Spock’s mind, but that did not change the fact that a fixation of this sort had never occurred before.

What about Jim was so different that his mind could not let him go?

Spock allowed that thought to swirl in his consciousness. He made no effort to answer the question—he would not devote even more of his mental faculties to this distraction—but he did not attempt to banish it either. It simply floated in his mind, not truly disturbing the rest of Spock’s meditation but keeping him from reaching that final stage of meditation that he had first sought when he had sunk to his knees in the small alcove of his room.

Eventually, Spock became aware of the beginnings of light filtering into his room through the east window and he pulled himself from his rest, no closer to answering the enigma that was the prince than he had been hours before.

. . .

_ Hunger. Terror. Grief. Those were all Jim knew as he ran, the world around him blurring with frightening speed. He didn’t know where his legs were carrying him, but he knew that he had to get as far away from here as he could. Eventually, he had to stop, his chest heaving painfully as he gasped in the dry, soot-laden air. He leaned against a barren tree—everything here was barren—and gasped raspily, his fingers scrabbling at the brittle bark in search of some sensation to ground him, anything other than the pain in his stomach and chest.  _

_ Then, the sound of voices broke the air, louder than his own desperate panting. Terror bolted through him again, a jolt of lightning to his battered system and then he was running again. Running, running, running, but he couldn’t get away. Slowly, the voices began to close in, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to crumble to ash as he ran, leaving him in an empty, painful void that echoed the feeling in his gut.  _

_ And then the voices were everywhere, taunting, screaming, crying. _

_ He tried to block them out, clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut and told himself not to listen. He had done everything he could. He had been a child. He hadn’t known that it would all fall apart. He hadn’t known that they had been sentenced to death. _

_ He screamed, and the sound bounced off the walls of the void, echoing into an infinity that mocked his pain. The other voices laughed at him, and pressed closer until it felt like he was being buried alive. He hadn’t died then, with them, but they were back now, and they’d claimed him. He was theirs to taunt and torture and— _

“My prince?”

_ What was that voice? The words sounded almost worried, but that couldn’t be right. The voices here didn’t worry about him. They tried to suffocate him, drown him in their pain. This had to be some kind of trick, a trap, just like before, just like— _

“Prince James, I was asked by Captain Arthurson to retrieve you. Our meeting begins in twenty-four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and he desired to meet with you beforehand.

_ That voice... _ Spock!

In an instant, Jim was awake, his chest heaving, shaking from the aftereffects of his dream. And that was all it had been. A dream. He took a deep breath, forcing his body to still and his breath to regulate itself. The last thing he needed right now was to look like some kind of terrified child in front of Lord Spock. Especially when he was already late to meet him.

He took one more breath and then stood, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and firmly ignoring the way that they shook as he placed his weight on them. Striding over to the door, he flung it open to reveal Spock, dressed in a long, dark blue robe embroidered in silver, one hand raised as if to open the door.

. . .

Spock blinked once, twice. He was not an expert in properly identifying the myriad of emotions that humans—James Kirk in particular—expressed so frequently, but he believed that the one dancing in the prince’s eyes now could be best categorized as fear. What had caused this reaction? 

Looking briefly over the man, it was easy to see that he had woken him from slumber—his hair was disheveled, he was wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy pants, and there were indentations lining the skin of his cheek where he must have been sleeping on a creased pillow. Perhaps Spock had startled him awake, causing the fear that he saw. But no, this emotion seemed somehow  _ more _ than such an action warranted. Had his initial assessment been incorrect? Was it not fear but something deeper that he saw?

In an instant, the undetermined emotion disappeared as the prince schooled his features into a grin. Spock quickly moved his outstretched hand behind his back, ignoring the way his heart seemed to race in his side.

“My prince,” he greeted with a deep nod, his voice revealing none of his inner turmoil. Whatever had caused such a reaction in the prince was likely no longer an issue, so why did he have the desire to shelter the man, to protect him from anything that could cause that broken look in his eyes to return? “I apologize for disturbing your rest. We are expected within the next twenty-one minutes, and Captain Arthurson desires to speak with you beforehand.”

Jim rolled his shoulders and yawned, nodding as he did so. “Yeah, he mentioned it yesterday. Sorry he made you stop by; I must have slept past my alarm. If you see him, tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can?” The man had already begun to turn back into his room, clearly expecting Spock to continue on with his morning and reunite with him later. Suddenly, as the door began to inch closed, Spock found that he was not satisfied with that.

“I would prefer to wait and leave with you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and the prince froze, half-turned away.

There was a heartbeat in which a thousand fears and shames flashed through Spock’s mind, and then the prince nodded. “Yeah, sure. Give me five minutes to make myself look at least a little presentable.” 

Spock nodded, and the door closed once more, leaving him wondering just how much his time on Earth was affecting him, to make him act out of emotion with so little hesitation. He would need to devote more of his meditation time to strengthening his controls against such reactions.

  
**1** **Kaiidth--What is, is**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is tired and irritated and makes a Mistake. Oh, and Bones gets drafted.

For the third time in the past thirty seconds, Jim had to resist the urge to rub his eyes. Between staying up with Bones and his...dream, he hadn’t gotten much sleep that deserved the name. There had been a brief moment when he had considered skipping the meeting today while he had been struggling to pull on one of his tunics—it was a blue one, although he hadn’t noticed until he had walked outside and Spock had raised an eyebrow at the matching colors of their outfits—but the thought of Spock waiting outside the door for him had banished that thought as quickly as it had come.

He felt bad that Spock had seen him like that this morning. He wasn’t exactly a model example of a proper human prince. But Spock hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t even raised an eyebrow, and Jim had decided to take that as a sign not to worry too much about it.

Something nudged him under the table. He blinked once, clearing his mind, to find Bones staring at him with concern in his eyes. Great. He really didn't need the doctor to interrupt another meeting because he thought Jim wasn't well enough to handle it—twice, it had happened twice, once with his own father in the room—so he shook his head subtly and tried to focus back on what Laura was saying. Something about the medical condition of the Western provinces providing an example to the South of proper medical care.

Laura was gorgeous this morning, just as she always was. Her long blond hair was tied up in a bun on the top of her head, the little jeweled pins sticking out of it perfectly complimenting the emerald blouse she wore. It was emblazoned with a large tree, the symbol of her house. Once, when they had talked briefly of getting married, Jim had wondered what that tree would look like when combined with the proud horse that made his own family's symbol. 

He was drifting again. He blinked forcefully and willed himself to listen to each word that fell from Laura's lips.

"Now, I am not saying that medicine in the South is inadequate, or corrupt, or anything of the sort," she declared, gesturing with one hand in the way she always did when she was passionate about a subject. "However, I do believe that we need to be making a greater effort to include the South in our medical conferences. How many Southern delegates would you estimate attended the last conference we held, Dr. McCoy?"

Jim allowed his eyes to drift back over to Bones, who was stroking his chin thoughtfully. "No more than half a dozen, my lady," he finally answered, brows drawn together in thought. "And two of them ended up leaving early because of some emergency. We can't share our innovations with them if they don't show up." There was frustration in the doctor's voice, and Jim wasn't surprised to hear it. Bones had moved from the South several years ago to study medicine at one of the larger universities here, and he had always said that the difference in medical care between the two was appalling.

"I agree," Laura nodded. "That's why we need to go out of our way to invite as many of the region's top healthcare professionals and researchers as we can."

Bones leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of him, gazing thoughtfully at Laura. "How do you propose we do that? We already send holo-invitations, PADD messages, and handwritten letters."

Laura crossed her arms, and although she didn't sigh—it was improper for a lady of the court to sigh, and Laura was a master of the court—Jim could read the frustration in her body. She didn't know what to do.

"That's why I called you all here," she admitted. "I was hoping you would have some ideas."

Jim looked around the circular table at the people assembled. On his right was Spock, then the agricultural expert Lady Vin, then the top medicinal researcher Dr. Shillar, then Laura, then the communications manager Lord Takahiro, then the conference manager Miss Ava, and finally Bones. A gathering of some of the most dedicated minds in the area to solve a problem that many others had chosen to overlook. It made Jim...proud. Most days, he didn't like to think of the people around him as 'his' people—it implied a level of control and responsibility that frightened him. Today, however, he was proud to claim them.

As silence continued to permeate the table, the seed of an idea planted itself in Jim's brain. Bones wouldn't like it, but if he presented it right...

"You said that we needed a way to personally contact the top medical professionals and make sure they attend the conference, right?" he asked, directing the question at Laura. She nodded, a question in her eyes. “Well, it's easy to decline a PADD message or dismiss a holo. A person, however, would be a lot harder to say no to, especially if that person were a medical professional as well with some convincing arguments."

A small smile began to play on Laura's lips. Although it had been months since they were together, they still knew each other well enough to catch one another's train of thought. "Agreed. It would have to be someone familiar with the area, however,” she mused, one finger tapping on her chin thoughtfully. “The regions may claim to be united under your father and the high king, but the South is still fiercely independent. We'll have to make it seem like their idea."

Jim nodded, his own grin threatening to sneak its way onto his face. "So it would be better if we sent someone originally from the South, someone who’s seen first-hand the medical technology and techniques that they're missing. They’ll have more success than a delegate from another region."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Bones' face freeze as he realized what was happening. The doctor didn't like to travel, and he disliked returning home even more. Jim had never pried, but he had a feeling that there was heartbreak in the South that he didn't want to face. However, Jim also knew that Bones would do just about anything to help others if it was in his power to do so—it was why he had become a doctor in the first place, and it was why he was such a good friend.

Jim saw the man square his shoulders and mutter something under his breath. Then he leaned forward and said, "My lady, my prince, I think I can see where this is goin'. You want me to take a stroll around my old stomping grounds and collect attendees for the next conference."

Neither Laura nor Jim contradicted him, and several of the other people sitting around the table nodded in approval. It was a solid plan; Bones could make a convincing argument when he tried, and he was near impossible to get rid of. Attendance would increase exponentially, of that Jim had no doubts.

"When do I need to leave?"

Jim grinned openly at his friend, nudging him under the table as he did so. This would be good for him; he'd have the chance to make a difference in his home, which Jim knew was something he had wanted to do ever since he had graduated. 

Laura turned to look at Miss Ava. "How soon do you need the list of attendees for the conference?"

The conference manager frowned in consideration, and Jim could practically see her running numbers and aligning dates. Finally, she said, "If Doctor McCoy leaves by the beginning of next week and then travels the region for three to four weeks, we will have an accurate estimation of the number of attendees in time to complete preparations." Her words, accented with what Jim believed was a Nigerian lilt, were confident, and Laura nodded.

"Does that work for you, Doctor?" she asked, smiling slightly. Although she and Bones had clashed when she had ended things—his friend could be a bit overprotective at times—they got along well and had been friends for years.

Bones grumbled again but nodded. "That'll give me time to get things in order here and reorganize all of the prince’s allergy medicine." A light laugh went around the table and Jim nudged his friend under the table a little more forcefully than he had before, but there was a smile on his face as he did.

"Good.” She smiled, and Jim felt his heart warm just a little. “That's all I needed to address today. I believe you had a presentation to share, Doctor McCoy?"

Bones stood from the table and made his way around to the podium that Laura had previously occupied, and the next hour passed quickly. When Bones was excited about a subject, the people around him couldn't help but be excited as well. Jim even saw Spock nodding along a few different times, and if that wasn't a sign of a good presentation, he didn't know what was.

Eventually, the meeting came to a close, and people began to stand from their seats, exchanging their farewells as they returned to their other duties of the day. Laura, however, lingered behind, and Jim took the opportunity to wave her over to where he, Bones, and Spock were standing.

"Laura, I'd like to introduce you to Lord Spock," he said, smiling at her as he nodded to Spock, who stood to his left with his hands clasped behind his back. "Lord Spock, this is Lady Laura Darvis, a good friend of mine."

After dating Laura for as long as he had, there was very little that the woman did that surprised Jim, but when she stepped over and held up her hand in the gesture that he had learned was called a ta'al, his eyes widened slightly. Since when had she been studying Vulcan traditions and greetings?

"Peace and long life to you, Lord Spock," she intoned. The words, which might have sounded awkward coming from another, fell gracefully from her lips. 

Jim thought he saw one of Spock's eyebrows twitch upwards a fraction of a centimeter before the man raised his own hand and copied the gesture. "Live long and prosper, my lady." Both lowered their hands, and Jim could read pride in the small smile that pulled at Laura's lips. 

"Your presentation today was intriguing," Spock declared as soon as his hand had returned to its place behind his back. "Your concern for the medical state of the southern regions seems logical, and the data you provided clearly shows a need for intervention by more advanced regions."

"Thank you, my lord. It is a situation that has disturbed me for years, and having the chance to do something about it now is—" A hand on Jim's shoulder drew his attention away from the conversation. He turned to see Bones, a disbelieving grin on his face.

"Looks like you won't have to worry about that crush of yours much longer," he declared, his grin widening slightly as he leaned against the table.

"Bones!" Jim hissed quietly, dragging his friend out of the earshot of Laura and Spock, who were now discussing the medical capabilities of most southern hospitals and how they compared to the local facilities.

Once they were a safe distance away, he released Bones and leveled the man with a glare worthy of the court. Bones, of course, was unfazed.

"Don't look at me like that, Jim. This is a good thing. If the hobgoblin and Laura hook up, your little crush'll fizzle out and everyone will be happy."

Jim crossed his arms in front of himself. "They just met, Bones, and they're talking about hospitals of all things. I really don't think that's grounds for a passionate romance," he said, ignoring the way his gut clenched at the thought of Spock with Laura.

"And if it is? Will you be able to handle that?"

"What do you mean?"

Bones sighed deeply and seemed to collect his words for a moment before saying, "Look, Jim. I know how you can get when you're head over heels for someone. It distracts you, and right now, you can't afford that. Sam's gone, your parents are heading back to the capital next week, and I'm leaving. That means it’s just you here to hold down the fort."

Some part of Jim knew that it was stupid to be insulted by his friend's words. Bones was right, as he so often was. That didn't stop the anger from rising in him, though, heating his blood just enough for him to feel it and have to resist the urge to dig his nails any further into the skin of his palms. 

"And Spock dating my ex-girlfriend wouldn't be?" He demanded, voice low and dangerous. "I am perfectly capable of setting aside my personal life to pay attention to the needs of the people around me, and honestly, I'm insulted that you think I can't." Bones opened his mouth to say something, but Jim didn't give him the chance. "I'm also insulted that you think I wouldn't be able to handle seeing Spock with someone other than me. I don't control his life, and I don't want to. Enjoy your trip."

Without giving Bones the chance to respond, Jim turned on his heel and strode from the room, forcing down all of the emotions that threatened to choke him as he did so.

. . .

"Indeed. I look forward to seeing how the introduction of such advanced..." Spock felt his words trail away as movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Jim stride through the double doors of the room. Spock only saw his face for an instant before he disappeared, but that instant was long enough for him to glimpse the storm of emotions that twisted the man's expression into something dark and altogether out of place on what was typically so bright a face.

"Lord Spock? What is it?"

Spock stared at the door for a half-second longer, his mind already at work attempting to decode everything he had seen on Jim's face. Then, he turned back to Lady Laura and bowed slightly. "I wish you success in your further attempts, my lady," he declared. "I must go." It was abrupt, rude, and went against the courtly manners his father had spent so much time instructing him in, but the woman did not seem offended. Surprised, perhaps, but not offended.

"Of course. Farewell, Lord Spock."

Spock gave her another nod and then turned away and headed straight for the doors that Jim had just walked through. He didn't know why he was behaving this way, why Jim's negative emotions disturbed him so, but he knew that he had to find the man and do whatever he could to bring the light back to his face.

He did not notice the deepening frown on Doctor McCoy's face as he passed.

. . .

The pounding of his feet against the treadmill drowned out the thrumming of his blood. Running had always been a kind of escape for him, ever since he had returned from Tarsus years ago and found that people looked at him differently. It reminded him that he was alive, and the pain gave him something to focus on other than the poisonous barbs that floated through his mind, threatening to cripple him any time he drew to close.

And so he stayed away, and let himself sink into the rhythm of his feet.

. . .

Jim was not in his room, nor was he in the library. Spock had anticipated that he would catch up with the man with ease considering the marginal head-start the other man had gotten on him, but it was as if the prince had disappeared. Now, Spock was standing in the middle of the library, arms folded in front of him as he tried to determine where else Jim may have gone.

It was obvious that the man was upset, which meant that wherever he had gone was likely a source of comfort to him. However, Spock was currently standing in the place he had believed gave Jim the most comfort. He resisted the urge to frown and instead attempted to recall some of his mother's earliest lessons on emotionality. 

Such lessons had been limited and had ceased entirely by the time he was eight years old, but he recognized now that they had been important, if not to help him understand his own emotions then at least to understand the emotions of those around him. It was a skill he had never anticipated he would require, but he found himself grateful that he had paid attention to his mother's words when they had sat together in the small garden outside of their home.

Anger had been an emotion his mother had taken great care to instruct him in. When attempting to eliminate anger, she had said, humans often did one of two things: they sought peace, or they sought violence. It was a contradictory truth, she had acknowledged, but a truth nonetheless. Sometimes, a person desired a more passionate outlet for their anger, a way to direct it.

He did not know if James Kirk reflected that particular lesson or not, but it would be illogical to ignore the possibility. With that in mind, he quickly left the library and made his way down the many hallways to the gymnasium where he had fenced with Jim four days previously. 

The door was slightly ajar when he arrived, and his ears twitched with the sound of someone—Jim—running swiftly, aggressively, not far beyond. He pushed it open with no hesitation and stepped inside, forcing his expression into impassiveness once more. It would not do for him to allow his emotions to seep into the upcoming conversation he was certain. 

. . .

Jim didn't hear the door open over the sound of his running, nor did he hear the sound of footsteps approaching. In fact, he didn't notice Spock's quiet presence at all until the Vulcan spoke.

"Jim."

The deep voice startled him out of his running-induced trance, and he very nearly tripped. Slowly, he came to a stop and turned to face Spock, hyper-aware of the sweat that had drenched his shirt and had his hair sticking up in a million directions. Stars, he must look a mess.

"Spock. What do you need?" The words came out sharper than he intended them, and he suppressed a wince. 

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow infinitesimally. "I believe you are in emotional distress, and I wish to offer to assist you in regaining your emotional equilibrium,” he stated, his voice perfectly calm.

"'Emotional distress'?" The words were out of Jim’s mouth before he had the chance to comprehend them.

"Yes."

Jim blinked. Spock was here because he thought he needed help getting his emotions under control? Did he think Jim was six? He probably did—to a Vulcan his quick exit must have looked like he was throwing a tantrum. But he wasn't, and the last thing he needed right now was Spock's help, whatever that entailed.

"I'm fine, Spock,” Jim said, wiping sweat from his brow, “and honestly, I don't think you would be much help."

The eyebrow rose a little higher, but other than that Spock’s mask of calm remained unchanged. "Then perhaps you would like to continue your study of the Vulcan language? Our mutual schedules are cleared for the next hour for that purpose."

Jim had forgotten about their daily study, but at the moment, sitting down and listening to Spock patiently explain how to pronounce words like 'chair' and 'sun' in Vulcan was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Not today, Spock. It would be best if you just left before my human emotions cause you any more inconvenience. I'll see you at dinner."

The instant the words left his mouth, he knew they were a mistake. He saw Spock's already straight back straighten even further, and his face closed off completely. "Of course, my prince. I apologize for disturbing you." 

Jim thought about calling after him as Spock made his way to the door, but all of a sudden a wave of exhaustion rolled over him, nearly causing his knees to buckle. If he tried to face Spock again like this, he would screw things up even more, so he stayed silent, and Spock slipped from the room as quietly as he had come.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim works to fix things, Bones is amazing, and Spock has some misconceptions.

Three days. It had been three days since Jim had lost his temper and managed to push away both Bones and Spock. He had apologized to Bones as soon as he had gotten all of his thoughts straight in his head, and the doctor had accepted his apology with the usual grumbling that ended in the two of them sharing drinks as if nothing had happened. At least that was one universal constant Jim could always count on. The thought of Bones one day leaving his life forever because he said something stupid terrified him, and it had been reassuring to listen to the man complain about his upcoming trip, blaming him for all of it of course.

Spock, however, was a different story. In the last three days, Jim had barely had a half-dozen conversations with the Vulcan, and none of them had lasted more than a minute. He had tried to apologize by offering to double the length of his lesson the next day to make up for the time they had lost, but Spock had brushed the suggestion aside as unnecessary. When Jim had shown up to their lesson on Tuesday he had been met with a large book written in Vulcan that Spock had told him to translate to the best of his ability. They had exchanged less than a dozen words.

It was nearly impossible given his limited command of the language, but he had been determined to prove to Spock that he was serious about this, and so he had taken the book with him after their lesson and continued to work on it when he had the chance. He was less than a quarter of the way through.

The silent treatment was uncomfortable, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the times when Spock did deign to speak with him. Every sentence was perfectly unemotional, concise, and ended with 'my prince'. It was horrible. All Jim wanted was to go back to the almost-friendship that they shared just a few days ago. He wouldn't even dream of asking for anything more, no matter how gorgeous Spock looked even when he was being frigid and distant.

Jim sighed heavily and forced himself to focus on the book in front of him. He could probably get a few more pages translated before he was supposed to meet with Bones.

. . .

The gardens surrounding the palace were aesthetically pleasing, a fact that Spock had noticed weeks ago when Ji—Prince James had first taken him on a tour of them. Since then, he had taken to visiting them often, and his attendance had increased by nearly two hundred percent in the last three days. If his mother were sitting beside him in the shade provided by the ancient elm, she would say that he was hiding. 

She would be correct.

It was not Vulcan of him—not that the people around him would know the difference—and it shamed him, but it was factual. He was avoiding the prince.

Before the events which had transpired on Monday, he had made a judgment of the prince's actions that he had believed to be accurate, and he had allowed that judgment to give him hope. Now, he knew his assessment to be in error, and his hope had shriveled like one of his mother's plants under the beating sun of Vulcan's summer.

How had he let himself believe that Prince James was any different from his peers on Vulcan? The things that he had mistaken as signs of friendship and camaraderie were not unique to Jim's interaction with him. He was a charismatic man who interacted with the people around him with ease; his attentions meant nothing more than that.

Alone, that fact would not be enough to cause Spock's current aversion to interact with the man. However, the prince's words and behavior on Monday brought the full truth to light, and it was that truth that Spock hid from.

Prince James was only treating him with such kindness because he believed it was his duty to. Spock was not on Earth as a representative of himself alone, but rather as a representative of the Vulcan people as a whole, and had he held a less prestigious position, the prince would no doubt limit their interactions to the strictly necessary. After all, how many times had the prince offered to limit their time together and Spock had ignorantly declined?

His avoidance was not entirely out of cowardice, however. The prince had, on the whole, been kind to Spock, in spite of his many traits that would and previously had incurred far more negative reactions. Thus, Spock was repaying his kindness in the one way that was available to him. That, at least, was logical. So why did he feel as if he was making a grave mistake?

. . .

"This is overkill, Bones, even for you," Jim declared as his gaze swept the large lab table completely covered in hypo sprays. "There is no way each of these serves a different purpose. I thought we were organizing my allergy medicine." They were standing in one of the palace’s many medical storage facilities, one that had been set aside for Bones’ use only. As the royal physician, he had access to the best medicines they could provide, and stars did it seem like he had every single one of them laid out in front of them.

Bones huffed. "This  _ is _ your allergy medicine, Jim. Since you're allergic to the simple stuff, I have to make a different concoction of the ingredients you aren't allergic to for every one of your other non-medical allergies." He crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head. "You're the most problematic patient I've ever had."

Jim couldn't help but grin at that. "I'm just keeping you on your toes, that's all," he said. He looked over the table again, eyeing the labels on the hypos nearest him. They looked like little more than wiggly lines with a couple of dots thrown in every now and then at random. "I am kind of worried though. If I end up having an allergic reaction to something, I don't think anyone is going to be able to read your handwriting quickly enough to save me."

That earned him a smack on the shoulder.

"All right, genius, let's get to work. Yellow is for fruits, green is vegetables, blue is medicines, white is liquids, and orange is environmental."

Sorting the various hypos and rewriting the labels—Bones had made him write them all by hand, since he had complained about the illegibility of his friend's scrawl—took them the better part of two hours. By the time they were done Jim's stomach was growling, and Bones was looking decidedly pleased with himself.

Jim straightened, his back cracking loudly as he did so. "Alright, Bones. That's the last label. Can we call my penance complete?"

Bones seemed to contemplate the question for several seconds longer than he had any right to before nodding. "Yeah, okay. I still need to update my instructions for the best tools and anesthetic to use during any kind of open surgery on you—"

"Surgery?” Jim asked, turning incredulous eyes on his friend. “Come on, Bones, it's not like I'm going to decide to go jump off a bridge because you're gone for a few weeks!"

"But other than that, I think everything's ready, which means I have the weekend off for once," Bones finished as if Jim had never interrupted him. "How's your schedule look?"

Jim frowned and moved to perch on the edge of the table that was free from hypos and boxes. "There's the ball tomorrow, and my parents are leaving for the capital on Sunday, but other than that I think it's clear."

"Ball?"

Jim nodded, a grin beginning to creep across his face. Bones had forgotten. "The annual Spring Ball. You're expected to be there, you know."

Bones shook his head with more force than Jim thought was strictly necessary. "I did not know! Since when does a doctor need to attend balls? That's your shindig,  _ my prince _ ,” he said, stressing Jim’s title. “Not mine."

Jim had to suppress a flinch at the honorific. He knew Bones didn't mean anything by it, but after three days of Spock saying it like it was some kind of Vulcan curse... He forced those thoughts away and painted on a grin; he didn't need Bones pressing him about Spock right now.

"Well, after I nearly collapsed after eating those nuts from Western Asia at last year's ball—which was not my fault, by the way, they weren't labeled—my father decided that it's better to just have you on hand for when things inevitably go wrong," he declared with a flourish of one hand that he knew would draw a scowl from his friend.

"Of all the stupid..." Bones sighed heavily and shook his head. "It's a good thing you're so likable, Jim, 'cause it'd be too easy to kill you on accident."

Jim smiled widely, unfazed by his best friend's words. "I think that'd be against the Hippocratic Oath," he said, sliding off the table and making his way to the door that led out of the storage room. 

"Then someone should rewrite the thing," the doctor retorted, following him out of the room and down the hall that led to his rooms. "It clearly didn't account for people like you."

Jim laughed at that, and the sound echoed down the hallway. Stars, it was incredible how much better he felt in his friend's presence. It was like the man projected a healing aura or something through the—many—layers of grouchy disapproval. "Come on, Bones. We have to find you something to wear."

. . .

"There is no way I'm wearing that thing, Jim," Bones insisted, just as he had to the other four outfits Jim had suggested.

"Well, it's a ball, which means formal wear, and you only have these five outfits to choose from."

Bones glared at him. "Who decided these outfits needed to have such stiff collars, anyway?" he complained, pulling at the fabric around his neck. "I feel like my neck's in a sling."

A chuckle escaped Jim and he shrugged lightly and leaned back in the grey recliner. "You could always wear the second outfit instead," he suggested with a grin, which only widened when Bones began another round of loud protests.

"There is no way in Heaven or Hell that I am wearing that monstrosity! I don't know whose bright idea it was to put ruffles on every inch of fabric, but they should be shot. And whoever picked out the color palette must be blind. I look like a damn peacock in that thing."

"But it doesn't have a collar."

"Only because the designer used all the fabric in the sleeves!"

Another laugh bubbled up, and Jim didn't bother trying to stifle it. "Well, you've got to choose something, Bones. Personally, I think the light grey shirt with the blue trimming looks the best on you, and the collar is made of a more breathable material. Pair it with the matching slacks and boots and you'll have the court falling all over you asking for a dance."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should wear the peacock outfit then."

"Very funny."

Bones grumbled a little bit more, but Jim knew he didn't want to spend any longer on the decision than the forty-five minutes that had already passed, and a few seconds later he left the living room to change back into today's outfit.

When the doctor returned, he shooed Jim out of his recliner and plopped down, leaving Jim to lounge on the couch. Neither of them had anything on their schedules for the rest of the day, and Jim wasn't in a hurry to leave. 

"You already have your outfit planned, I assume?" Bones drawled once he had settled into the chair.

Jim chuckled. "Mom picked it out, actually. I don't think she trusts me to do it myself anymore after having Laura to rely on for so long."

Bones grunted in reply, and a comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes. Then, just as Jim was beginning to get lost in thoughts of what he would do with his free time, Bones spoke up again, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"Is the hobgoblin goin' to be at the ball?"

The question shouldn't have stirred the butterflies in Jim's stomach out of hibernation, but it did, and he realized he didn't know the answer to that question. Did Spock even know about the ball? He had a PADD with an updated schedule and a liaison who had done a pretty good job of keeping him informed so far, but a ball didn't seem like the kind of thing Spock would want to go to. Would he be offended if he wasn't invited? Would he feel obligated to go even if he wouldn't enjoy himself if he was?

"Jim?"

Jim blinked and focused back on his friend. "I don't know," he replied sheepishly. "We haven't talked about it." They hadn't talked about anything. At all. For three days. 

"Ah."

"Don't," Jim warned, tilting his head toward the ceiling and closing his eyes. "Don't do it, Bones."

"Something happened after you left that meeting on Monday, didn't it?" the doctor guessed, ignoring Jim's words entirely. "Don't tell me that you blew up at him too." Jim stayed silent, and Bones let out a long sigh. "What was it about?"

For a long moment, Jim thought about not replying, about just standing up and walking out of his friend's rooms, but all that would do was delay the inevitable. Bones was more persistent than anyone else he knew, especially when it came to things like this.

"He tracked me down in the gym," he finally said, eyes still closed. "Told me he could tell I was in 'emotional distress' or something and offered to help. I told him that I was fine and that I didn't need any help. I don't think he believed me, but he was willing to let the subject drop and reminded me that our lesson in the Vulcan language was scheduled to begin in a few minutes, and I told him that I wouldn't be there." He let out a small huff of air. "Then he went straight as a board, apologized for disturbing me, and left."

"Have you apologized?"

A flash of anger ran through him—he wasn't a child; he knew how to interact civilly with people—but he quickly pushed it aside. Anger was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, and besides, it wasn't Bones he was angry with. It was himself.

"He hasn't given me the chance," he sighed, finally opening his eyes to look at his best friend. "I tried, Bones, but it's like Spock's a stone wall. I know you thought he was emotionless before, but this is different. There's no inflection in his voice, and he won't even use my name anymore. It's just, 'yes, my prince' and 'attempt to translate this text, my prince' and 'that is unnecessary, my prince'. That's it. That's all I've gotten from him for three days." Jim waited for his friend to remind him that all of this was his fault, but instead of a reprimand, Bones' next words were soft.

"I don't know much about Vulcans, Jim, so all I can do is speculate, but it might be that your sudden shift in behavior threw him for a loop, especially if he can't see a reason for it," the doctor proposed, frowning in thought. "His emotionless shut-down might just be what he considers to be the most logical action in the face of emotions he doesn't understand the source of."

As much as he didn't want it to, a small seed of hope began to take root in Jim's chest. "So you think the problem is really my shifting emotions, and not me?"

Bones' frown deepened. "You can't separate yourself from your emotions, Jim," he admonished, shaking his head. "But the two of you seemed to get on fine until Monday, so I'd wager Spock doesn't, or at least didn't, have anything against your everyday personality. Still, someone who doesn't accept or understand emotion isn't going to make a great romantic partner."

Jim shook his head, a small smile on his face. It wasn't really a happy expression, but it wasn't entirely sad either, now that he had that seed in his chest. "I'm not trying to woo him, Bones. I just want us to get along while he's here, and hopefully have a strong enough friendship to keep in touch after he leaves," he said, and he meant the words, although they made him ache inside. Trying to pursue a romantic relationship with Spock—as much as Jim might want it and as much as he thought the two of them could really be good together—just wasn't logical, especially considering their positions in their respective governments.

The raised eyebrow told Jim that his friend didn't entirely believe him, but thankfully, he let that part of the subject drop. "Well then, I suggest you find out if he's goin' so that you can corner him at the ball where he can't run away from you and apologize properly. If he accepts your apology everything's dandy, and if he doesn't you'll get some more practice bein' diplomatic with people who can't stand to be around you."

"That's not encouraging, Bones."

Bones just harrumphed in reply, and they fell into silence once again until it came time for Jim to head back to his rooms. "See you at the ball tomorrow," he threw over his shoulder as he left. His friend muttered something about formal wear, and Jim grinned again as the door closed behind him. Then, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He needed to find out if Spock was going to the ball.

. . .

Spock was a few minutes away from achieving a deep meditation when a knock sounded at his door. He stood from his cross-legged position in a fluid motion, extinguished the candle, and straightened his meditation robe before stepping out of the small alcove and toward the door. Even before opening it, he knew who was on the other side, despite the myriad of potential visitors.

He opened the door and nodded stiffly to Prince James Kirk.

The man's eyes widened as he took in Spock's apparel. While his meditation robes were not too dissimilar to the robes he wore during day-to-day functions, they were less formal and made of a much lighter material.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you, Lord Spock," the man said, quickly overcoming his evident shock.

"It is of no consequence, my prince."

The man seemed to suppress an involuntary movement of some kind for a split second—some display of discomfort or disgust no doubt—before nodding. "I just wanted to ask if you're planning on attending the Spring Ball tomorrow night."

There were emotions in the prince's voice that Spock couldn't identify, although he seemed almost...hopeful? Hopeful of what? "I am. I was told the experience would be culturally enlightening." He didn't know why he had added the last sentence; he didn't need to justify his presence at an event he had been invited to, and yet he found that he craved the man's approval of his attendance all the same. It was frustratingly illogical.

The prince's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. "Of course. Then I will see you there, Lord Spock. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my prince."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball!

Humans, Spock noted absently as he surveyed the large and crowded ballroom, did not seem to require much of a reason to celebrate. When his liaison–an elderly man with far more energy than Spock would have suspected someone of his age capable of—had extended an invitation to the ball, he had inquired as to its purpose, and the man had looked at him questioningly and replied that it was the spring ball. That statement did not truly answer Spock’s question, but he had accepted the invitation regardless. Now, he was standing in a far corner of the ballroom observing the festivities and the room itself.

Although he had been in the room before for the feast that had welcomed him and his father to Earth, he had not taken the time to truly observe it then, distracted as he had been by the sheer amount of  _ movement _ that had been occurring. It was a large room, at least seventy meters long and half that distance across. The wall nearest him featured a half dozen stained glass windows, each depicting some scene from human history in which the Kirk family line had played a part. The one he stood in front of depicted the First Contact between Vulcans and Humans, and Spock was struck by the man in the picture’s resemblance to Prince James.

The prince had been distant throughout the evening, only nodding in acknowledgment of his presence once during the dinner that had taken place before the ball before turning his attention to Doctor McCoy and his mother. Such action had not surprised Spock, but it had made his heart clench in his side for reasons he had not wished to ponder. His attention had been quickly pulled away from the prince, however, by King George.

“I apologize, Lord Spock, that my wife and I are leaving again so soon and for such an extended amount of time,” he had said, and Spock had read genuine regret in the man’s eyes. “I’m afraid we haven’t been the best of hosts, although I’ve appreciated your insight during the meetings that you’ve attended.”

Spock had been surprised to hear the honesty in those words. “There is no need for apology, my king,” he had replied, nodding slightly to the man. “The needs of your people and your High King take precedent. It is logical.” The rulers of the various kingdoms of earth reported to the High King, and when the man called a meeting, it was only logical to obey the instruction, regardless of previous obligations.

His words had drawn a slight smile from the man and Spock had suddenly realized where Prince James’ expressions came from. “Of course. I’m sure Jim will keep you in the loop while we’re gone, and, well, it’s a genuine human experience if nothing else.”

“Prince James had been a gracious host,” Spock had replied evenly. “I am certain that my time here on Earth will benefit me greatly, regardless of the irregularity of current events.” That smile had returned to the king’s face again, and he had nodded in agreement before changing the topic.

The king and his wife were dancing in the middle of the room now, and had been for some time, swaying in each other’s arms as if they were made to fit against one another. It was intriguing how easily humans displayed their emotions, how free they were with their embraces. Even a bonded couple on Vulcan would rarely be seen standing so close, and perhaps another Vulcan would have found such a display uncomfortable to witness, but Spock found it...he did not know what he found it. Comforting, perhaps. 

He shook his head sharply to clear it of the jumble of thoughts that pressed against his mind, and as he did so, his eyes fell on a familiar figure leaning against a pillar across the room, his posture the picture of ease as he laughed at something his companion—Laura Darvis—said.

. . .

“He really said that?” Jim asked, laughing as Laura nodded in confirmation. “In the middle of a meeting? I’m glad I wasn’t so tactless when I asked you out the first time.”

“When you asked me out? No, James T. Kirk,  _ I  _ asked  _ you _ out.”

Jim frowned playfully, taking a long sip of the drink Laura had given him a few minutes earlier. “Are you sure? I remember asking you on a date after we snuck out of the palace to eat at that terrible pancake place a mile away. You were covered in mud by the time we got there, and I thought you looked so gorgeous I just blurted it out while you were ordering our meal. That poor server was so confused.”

That had been an interesting night. They had snuck out after a ball not very different from the one they were at now after Laura had complained of being hungry, each still dressed in their fancy attire. It had rained a few hours before, turning the backroads they had decided to walk down had turned into sludge, but Laura had insisted, and Jim had been too awestruck to deny her. He wasn’t in love with Laura anymore, but stars, he had been once.

Laura laughed, the sound wonderfully familiar. “I asked you out when I asked you to go get pancakes with me! Don’t tell me you would walk that far in the mud for just anyone who asked.”

“Fair point,” Jim conceded, chuckling. “So, did you accept his offer? Mr. Arren’s?”

Laura raised an eyebrow at him. “He asked me to go out on a date with him in the middle of a meeting about how to best repair diplomatic relations with the Lissgar,” she said dryly. “No, I didn’t accept. Besides, he wanted to take me out tonight, and there was no way I was missing the ball.”

“Oh, I thought you didn’t like these things? Isn’t that why we snuck out?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I don’t enjoy them, typically, but there are a few things I wanted to do here tonight, and Arren wasn’t tempting enough to pull me away.”

He laughed again and drained the rest of his glass, enjoying the way the fruity liquid tingled as it slid down his throat. He was about to ask what exactly Laura had been so eager to do when the music changed. “This is the song we danced to that night,” Jim said, setting his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and holding out his hand for Laura to take. “Care for round two?”

A smile crossed Laura’s face, equal parts exasperated and fond. “If you were anyone else, my prince, I’d say you were flirting with me,” she replied but took his hand and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.

Jim settled one hand against her waist and grinned as he began to lead them in the familiar dance. “If you were anyone else, I’d agree with you, but you were right when you said we were better off as good friends than romantic partners. You never were one to be tied down to a relationship.”

She nodded thoughtfully as they swayed, and Jim could feel her eyes sweeping him, looking for something. A sly smile slipped onto her face, and he knew she had found it. “What’s her name?” she asked, her eyes glinting.

For a moment, Jim thought about brushing the question off, deflecting it as he did so many others, but he knew better than to try that with Laura. She had gotten too close to him to be fooled by his typical methods of deflection and avoidance. But to admit that he had eyes for Lord Spock of all people?

“They’re a he, actually,” he settled for saying as he spun Laura in time to a crescendo in the music. Once Laura was swaying across from him again, she raised an eyebrow. She knew gender wasn’t a big consideration for him, but it had been a while since he had dated someone who didn’t identify as female.

“Do I know him?”

“You’ve met.”

“Hmmm. Are the two of you serious?”

Jim felt a blush rise to his cheeks, and he glanced away from Laura’s searching eyes. “We aren’t together, actually. He doesn’t...have feelings for me, not the way I do.”

Laura was silent for a while, and the music began to wind down. Just before the last note faded away, she leaned in and whispered, “You’re cute when you’re pining.” Then, she strode away before Jim could respond, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the floor. He shook his head and began to turn back toward where he knew Bones was lurking on the edge of the room when his eyes caught the gaze of the very man he had been thinking of. Spock quickly looked away, but that one glance was all Jim needed. He had avoided this conversation long enough, and Bones was right. At least if he apologized here Spock wouldn’t be able to run away from him.

With that in mind, he squared his shoulders and strode across the ballroom. Spock saw him coming, and Jim noticed the way the Vulcan’s posture straightened impossibly more, but he did not turn away. He knew as well as Jim did that they needed to talk.

“Lord Spock,” Jim said nodding deeply.

“My prince.”

They were standing close, close enough that no one else would hear their conversation. Spock hadn’t backed away yet, which Jim decided to take as a good sign. He took one last deep breath to settle his nerves—stars he shouldn’t be nervous about  _ apologizing _ —and then said in as calm a voice as he could manage, “T'nash-veh torai vesh' riolozhikaik, Spock.” The Vulcan’s eyes widened a fraction, but he stayed silent, and Jim felt panic begin to rise in his stomach. He had checked and double-checked that sentence, and maybe the grammar wasn’t perfect, but surely Spock could understand the gesture? “My actions have been illogical,” he tried again in Standard, praying the Vulcan would be able to recognize his sincerity. “I apologize for the way I behaved, Spock, and I want you to know it had nothing to do with you. I was over-emotional and reacted in a way that I shouldn’t have.”

Spock blinked once. Twice. Three times. Had Jim broken him? He had tried to limit his human emotionalism when he apologized, but it had probably bled into his voice anyway and sent the Vulcan into a hard reboot. Great. He couldn’t even apologize properly without screwing it up.

“My prince—”

“Jim, please call me Jim.” If his emotions hadn’t been obvious in his voice before, they were now. He was pathetic.

“Jim, there is no need for you to apologize. If anything, it is I who should seek your forgiveness.”

It was Jim’s turn to blink. “What for? I’m the one who was over-emotional and rude. You were just trying to help.”

Spock glanced away, and Jim swore the tips of the Vulcan’s ears were a darker green now than they had been a few seconds ago. “My presence on Earth has been a burden to you. You have done much to accommodate me, and I have done little to repay that kindness.”

Jim opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying and failing to find words to explain how completely  _ wrong _ Spock was. Did he really think of himself as a burden? Until Jim had exploded at him on Monday, their discussions and time spent together had been the best thing that had happened to him in  _ months.  _

“Spock, no,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry if I made you think you were a burden to me or my family, but you aren’t. I appreciate the time you let me spend with you, and I appreciate your insight on everything.” He shook his head again, hoping the Vulcan could hear the sincerity in his voice. “I’m glad you’re here, Spock.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth lifted a centimeter. The expression could hardly be considered a smile, but Jim’s stomach fluttered at the sight anyway. “As am I, Jim. The experience has been enlightening thus far, and I believe it will continue to be so.”

Jim glanced back at the dance floor and grinned as an idea came to him. “Care to be enlightened on human dancing?”

Spock raised a perfect eyebrow, and Jim’s heart did a barrel-roll. “I presume you are asking me to ‘share a dance’ with you?”

The Vulcan had no right to look as gorgeous as he did. “Yes.”

“I accept. If you would give me a moment?”

Jim nodded, his mind still trying to catch up to the fact that Spock had just agreed to dance with him. The realization made his stomach join his heart in its tilt-a-whirl turning. When he finally snapped back to reality, he noticed that Spock had pulled out a pair of thin black and gold-trimmed gloves from somewhere in his indigo robes and was carefully putting them on. The Vulcan must have sensed his confusion.

“I am a touch-telepath, my prince, and I respect your privacy as much as I respect your cultural traditions of close contact,” he explained in an even tone as he adjusted the fingers of his right glove in a way that instantly drew Jim’s eyes. “I do not wish to intrude upon your thoughts.”

Touch-telepathy. Jim had completely forgotten about that particular Vulcan trait, although it did help to explain why touching was such a big deal for Vulcans—he had listened to Sam lecture him about that particular taboo for a solid three hours the day before the Lord Sarek and his entourage had arrived. He felt bad for not remembering, but Spock didn’t seem to mind too much.

When the Vulcan had finished adjusting his gloves, Jim held out his hand, ignoring the way his stomach felt as if a million butterflies had just taken flight inside it. Spock took it, and even through the light fabric of the gloves Jim swore he felt a spark of...something. The Vulcan didn’t say anything or make any sign of discomfort though, so he pulled him to the center of the room just as the musicians began another tune.

Jim felt a blush stain his cheeks. This song was a slower one, slower than the dance he had shared with Laura, and although the musicians played without words Jim knew the lyrics had plenty of romantic undertones. Well, at least the slow pace would help Spock to get the hang of the steps.

Within a few turns, Jim realized he was not educating Spock at all on human dancing—the Vulcan was already excellent at it. That grace that Jim had noticed before seemed to apply to dancing as well, causing him to glide across the floor with ease. Of course it did.

“One day, Spock, I’m going to find something that you aren’t already good at, and then I’ll actually be able to share some human knowledge with you,” Jim declared with a good-natured chuckle as they slowly turned in time to the music.

Spock, to his surprise, looked almost chagrined. “You will find I have an...advantage over other Vulcans in that area.” He hesitated a moment, and Jim knew instinctively that whatever Spock was about to say was important to him and held his tongue. “My mother is a human.”

Jim nearly stumbled over his feet in shock, and only the years of dance classes his mother had forced upon him kept him from missing the next step of the dance. Spock was half-human? “I feel like I should have known that already,” Jim half-mumbled, more to himself than to his dance partner. How had he not known that about Spock? Had it not been in the files that Vulcan had sent over?

The muscles under Jim’s hand at the Vulcan’s waist stiffened. “I did not mean to deceive you. I understand if you are disappointed to have a representative of Vulcan who is not fully Vulcan, and if you wish—”

“Spock,” Jim leaned in closer, until he was certain that Spock had nowhere to look but at him. “I don’t care if you’re a full-blooded Vulcan or not. I just feel like I didn’t read the briefings carefully enough, or I would already know that about you. I’ve been a horrible host.”

Those brown eyes blinked once. “My...heritage was likely not included in the briefings you received from Vulcan, as it was not considered an important factor. I was chosen for the exchange because of my father’s position in the Vulcan government and my own desire to learn more of human culture.”

There was more to that story, Jim could tell, but he could also tell that the subject made Spock uncomfortable. He still hadn’t relaxed, and Jim led him through two more turns in silence, allowing them both time to collect their thoughts. As he did, he realized that the churning in his stomach still hadn’t disappeared, despite the fact that his nerves were—mostly—calm now. Huh. Well, if he was still feeling like this after the dance ended he would go see Bones.

“What region of Earth is your mother from?” Jim asked, partially out of curiosity and partially to distract himself from the growing pain in his gut.

“She was born in the region I believe was once called Canada, and although I understand that such names have been replaced for some time following the unification of Earth two centuries ago, she still considers herself ‘Canadian’.”

Jim grinned, or at least tried to. “Yeah, a lot of people still consider themselves members of countries that don’t technically exist anymo—” Suddenly a wave of dizziness crashed over him, and Jim felt himself begin to pitch forward. Spock’s grip strengthened, stabilizing him, and when the stars finally cleared from Jim’s eyes he could read worry on the Vulcan’s face.

“Jim? Is there something amiss?”

He wanted to laugh or maybe wave his hand is some vague gesture of reassurance, but even the thought of moving like that had him wobbling. He didn’t protest as Spock gently guided him off of the dance floor and back toward where they had been standing previously. They were nearly at the window again when Jim felt as if someone had stolen the ground from underneath his feet. In an instant, he was falling, the world around him seeming to spin and wobble like a poorly-made top. Distantly, he heard what sounded like Spock asking him something in a voice too frantic to be real. Then, the darkness took him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock panics (logically, of course) as he and Bones rush to figure out what's wrong with Jim.

Spock kept a firm grip on Jim’s arm as he led the prince away from the middle of the room. It was clear that there was something wrong with the man, and he knew instinctively that Jim would prefer not to be in the middle of a crowd of people if anything were to happen. 

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he felt Jim begin to sway in his grasp once more, and before he could adjust his grip appropriately the human pitched forward. He moved without consciously deciding to, and in an instant Spock was kneeling on the floor, cradling Jim’s head to his chest, having just managed to avoid letting him hit the ground. 

“Jim? Can you hear me?” he asked. If he had been more aware he might have been ashamed of the fear that had seeped into his voice, but as it was he hardly noticed it. “Jim?” There was no response. 

By now a few of the members of the court had noticed that their prince was unconscious in his arms and had begun to press around them, curiosity and fear mingling in their gazes. Spock hunched forward, instinctively shielding Jim as best he could from their prying eyes. “My lord,” he said in a tight voice to the nobleman nearest him. “Please locate Dr. Leonard McCoy as swiftly as possible. It is my understanding that he is Prince James’ personal physician.” He didn’t wait for the man to nod before turning his attention back to the prince.

Jim’s face had begun to swell and was turning a sickly shade of purple. His throat, as well, seemed to be closing up, and his breaths were becoming few and shallow. Although he was unconscious, his body was flinching away from some unseen threat, and Spock knew that his mind was likely beginning to cloud with panic and fear, neither of which were conducive to keeping the man alive. 

He barely spared a moment to think of the consequences of his actions as he pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth and then lowered the bare hand to the skin of Jim’s throat where the man’s pulse beat. Carefully, he shielded his mind from any thoughts that Jim was projecting and sent a projection of his own. Not words, as that would require a meld, but impressions of peace and safety. He would not allow the prince to die here tonight.

A few moments later, a hand on his shoulder broke his concentration. He turned to glare at whoever had deigned to interrupt him, but the expression disappeared the instant he recognized the figure as Doctor McCoy. 

“I need to get him to my sick ward where his allergy medicines are,” the man explained quickly. “Can you carry him?” Spock only nodded and adjusted his grip on Jim before rising, the prince carefully tucked against his chest. 

They made their way through the crowd swiftly, as the good doctor was not afraid to physically remove anyone who stood in their path for longer than a second. At some point the king and queen had joined them, but Spock was too focused on the sound of Jim’s breathing becoming less and less frequent to pay them any heed. One of his hands brushed the man’s exposed skin, and he sent a flood of reassurance through the touch as he continued to stride down the hall.

“Put him on the bed closest to that door,” the doctor ordered as soon the small group had stepped inside what appeared to be a private sick ward reserved for the royal family. There were four beds, and as Spock set Jim down in the one that had been indicated he wondered if there had ever been a time when all four had been simultaneously occupied. 

Once Jim was laying on the biobed, Spock turned to the doctor to offer his aid, but McCoy spoke first. “My king and queen, I know you’re worried about him, but I need you out of the way so that I can do my job. My nurse is out today and I don’t have time to call a substitute, so Lord Spock, you’ll have to do.” Spock nodded once, and although Jim’s parents looked as if they wished to complain, they left the room.

“Alright, this looks like one of Jim’s more serious allergic reactions,” the doctor declared, already grabbing hypo sprays from a large cabinet next to Jim’s bed. “I’m going to give him something to ease the swelling and help him breathe, which should buy us time to figure out what the heck is wrong with him.” As he spoke, McCoy applied a hypo to the prince’s neck, and Spock watched as the man’s breathing began to even out slightly.

“Now, what did he eat that you know of?”

“Broccoli and cheddar soup, three slices of bread, and a glass of wine, I did not see the type,” Spock replied instantly, moving aside so that the doctor could connect the machines that would monitor Jim’s vitals. “He also consumed another liquid while speaking with Lady Darvis, although I do not know what it was.”

The doctor paused. “I’m not going to ask you how you remember all of that,” he declared before connecting the last wire. The machine above Jim’s bed came to life, beeping as it displayed the man’s core temperature and heartbeat. McCoy observed the readings for a few long moments before muttering under his breath.

“Those readings don’t match any of the other allergic reactions he’s had in the past,” he stated, brushing past Spock to head for the cabinet once more. “I’m going to start with some of the basic hypos, but I need you to run a cross-analysis of Jim’s current vitals and all of his past reactions. Start with the ones where we know it was something he drank. He isn’t allergic to any of the other stuff you listed.”

Spock nodded and crossed the room in a few long strides to the computer console where he quickly located the prince’s medical records and accessed the folder titled ‘Allergic Reactions’. There were a multitude of files within the folder, but he quickly isolated only those pertaining to liquids that the prince had ingested which caused an allergic reaction. Then he pulled up Jim’s current results and began a cross-analyzation program that would identify the most likely substance that had caused the reaction based on previous data.

As the computer sorted through the hundreds of possibilities, Spock turned his attention to Jim. The doctor was muttering to himself as he moved around the man’s bed, adjusting monitors and applying a new hypo spray every few seconds. The swelling in the prince’s face had gone down some, but the irregular coloring had remained, and as Spock watched, Jim’s breath began to come in strangled gasps once more. 

“This shouldn’t be happening!” McCoy insisted as he jammed another hypo in the prince’s neck. “Jim’s never reacted like this to anything!”

At that moment, the computer behind Spock let out a too-cheerful ding, announcing that it had reached its conclusion. Spinning to face it, Spock was met with three flashing words—’no match found’. Had Spock been fully human, he might have sworn. As it was, his fingers flew across the computer’s keyboard.

“The computer analysis states that the prince’s reaction does not match any possible allergens,” he stated as he worked. “I am thus broadening the search to include substances that would cause similar reactions in any human who ingested them.”

“You mean poisons? You think Jim’s food was poisoned?” Spock didn’t turn to face the doctor, but he could hear the shock and outrage in the man’s voice.

“Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains however improbable must be the truth,” he stated as he hit the final button that would begin the new analysis under the adjusted parameters. He turned back to the doctor. “As a prominent political figure, there is a greater possibility that the prince would be targeted with such an action.”

The doctor’s blue eyes darkened. “If you’re right, Lord Spock, Jim has bigger problems to deal with.”

Spock nodded. “Indeed. First, however, he must survive this assassination attempt, if that is what this is.”

The computer behind him beeped once again, and Spock spun back around without waiting for the doctor’s response. His eyes were instantly drawn to the two familiar words that flashed at the top of the screen.  _ Gahv-kur tevakh _ , the purple death. Under those words were the flower’s scientific name, its origin, and the known cures for those who had ingested it.

“Doctor, the prince has been poisoned with an extract made from the gahv-kur tevakh, a deadly flower that grows only on Vulcan,” he reported. “The antidote is extremely rare, but I can synthesize a working replica from the supplies you have here.”

“I don’t care what kind of flower it is, Spock, just get me something that will keep this fool from dying on me!”

Spock nodded and immediately began his work, running various computer programs against the supplies he had. He would not allow Jim to die, not when there was a possibility of saving him.

. . .

Jim felt as if his body were trying to kill him, as if his organs were liquifying and trying to escape the confines of his skin. The pain seemed to come from everywhere at once, until he was drowning in it. Distantly he could hear voices and movement, but any time he tried to focus on what those voices were saying his pain spiked again and he was pulled back under. In an effort to distract himself from the feeling of his body beginning to shut down, he tried to conjure happy memories. Instead, his mind brought visions of terror and phantom hunger that only added to his current pain.

No, he wouldn’t go back there. Tarsus was in the past, and whatever this was that was happening to him now, it wasn’t Tarsus. He had sworn that he would never be in a situation like that again, that he would never again be so powerless. Anger flared in his chest, a burning different from the pain he felt, and he latched onto that with what little awareness he had left, letting it singe away the darkness until it was all he could focus on. He would not let his own body destroy him. He would fight it.

. . .

The liquid in the beaker dripped slowly, and Spock irrationally desired to speed the process even though he knew that doing so would compromise the accuracy of the distillation, which could in turn harm Jim further. The man’s immune system saw many foreign substances as a threat, and the slightest change in the formula he and Leonard had synthesized from the typical antidote could prove deadly to him. Still, as the speed of Jim’s heartbeat decreased even further, he wished that the process did not take so long.

“I’ve given Jim another sedative,” Doctor McCoy said, striding across the room to where Spock had set up an impromptu distillery to serve their purposes. “His breathing is easier now, but that’s the last one I feel comfortable givin’ him with his heartbeat as low as it is. If we don’t get him an antidote within the next half-hour, there’s not much more I or anyone else will be able to do.”

Spock nodded shortly. Although he was not as well versed in human physiology as Vulcan, he knew enough to know that the prince’s readings were dangerously low. Opening his airway had bought them some time, but without the cure that he was making, Jim would die within the next hour.

“The antidote will take another eleven minutes and thirty-one seconds to prepare,” he informed the doctor as he carefully adjusted the temperature of the distiller. “It will have to be injected directly into the bloodstream using a needle, as I do not have time to convert the substance to a hypo spray.”

“Alright, I’ll get the supplies ready.” He moved away from the table and toward a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. Spock did not look up from his work, but he could hear the man pause briefly by Jim’s bed and knew that the doctor was worried. He had kept a remarkably professional attitude, but Spock was certain that to lose Jim would break Leonard. He would not allow that to happen.

. . .

The flame of his anger was flickering. He continued to clutch to it still, but it had dimmed, and the pain was creeping back in, even more intense than it had been earlier. Somehow, he knew that if he gave up fighting now, he would die. But holding on took so much strength, strength he wasn’t sure he had. 

Then, at the edge of his mind, he heard voices again. They were far too quiet for him to identify the words or even the speakers, but he knew whoever it was was working to save him, and he owed it to them to keep fighting for as long as he could. He was a Kirk, and a Kirk did not simply roll over and die when faced with pain.

. . .

Spock stood scant centimeters from the bed where Jim lay, face still a frightening shade of purple and breaths coming in ragged gasps, as Doctor McCoy pushed up the sleeve of the prince’s shirt and swabbed the skin of his upper arm. Then the man took a deep breath and administered the antidote, steadily pressing down on the plunger until the entire solution was injected into Jim’s bloodstream. The doctor’s eyes went to the biomonitor above the bed and Spock’s followed them. For a few long moments, nothing changed. Then, Jim’s heartbeat began to level out and his breathing increased.

“That was close!” The doctor’s words were followed by a barking laugh as the man whipped his forehead with the edge of his sleeve and grinned. “I swear, every time I think I’ve seen it all with Jim he comes up with some new way to try to scare me to an early grave.” He laughed again and shook his head. “Thank you for your help, Lord Spock; I wouldn’t have been able to do this on my own.”

Spock dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Thanks are unnecessary. I am simply pleased that the prince will survive,” he said in an even tone that betrayed none of the leapings of his heart. Jim was alive!

The doctor nodded. “Jim’ll probably be unconscious for another day or so after the toll that poison had on his body in such a short amount of time, but he’ll make a full recovery.” The man sighed and checked Jim’s readings again. “I’d better go find the king and queen; they’ll be wanting to see him.”

“I will locate them, if you would prefer.”

“I’d appreciate that; I should probably clean myself up before they get here anyway. Thanks again, Spock.”

Spock nodded and then left the ward, sparing one final glance at Jim’s face, once more flushed with life.

. . .

When Spock located the king and queen and told them of their son’s poisoning and recovery, the king had immediately sent for his personal guard to begin an investigation into the event while the queen had grabbed Spock in a firm hug and whispered her thanks between sobs of relief. Eventually, he managed to extract himself from her grasp, and excused himself, his mind disoriented from the overwhelming emotions that had bled from the queen’s skin. 

For a few moments he considered returning to the sick ward where Jim was, but he quickly dismissed that thought. The king and queen would desire to spend time alone with their son. Instead, he made his way back to his quarters, quickly slipping into his black meditation robe and settling onto the floor. His mind was overwhelmed with emotions and half-thoughts and splinters of memories of the day. He needed the centering calm that his meditation would provide.

After twenty minutes and forty-six seconds, he was finally able to still his mind enough to sink into the first level of meditation. He cleared away his memories of the day, filing them away into their appropriate places according to their importance. All of his memories of Jim, he made sure to engrain in his mind—they could be useful to identify whoever had poisoned the prince later. The process took another thirty-seven minutes and eleven seconds. Then, he entered the second level.

Here, he managed his own thoughts about the events of the day, and sorted them until they were coherent enough to be analyzed and either preserved or dismissed. During this time several theories about Jim’s poisoning made themselves known, and he filed them accordingly. On another evening, he likely would have lingered on these ideas, fleshing them out until he could dismiss or act on them, but he did not have the mental energy for that tonight. Forty-one minutes later, he settled into the third state of meditation, the final state he would be able to achieve tonight.

Typically, he did not spend long in the third stage, quickly moving on to the fourth where the majority of his rest took place. Tonight, however, was different, for he had experienced a myriad of emotions today, and he knew instinctively that now was not the time to push them away and bury them as he so often did. He needed to understand them.

The first he recognized was fear. It was easy to understand its presence in his mind considering the events of the evening. At first his fear had been that Jim would continue to reject him and distance himself, perhaps even request that Spock leave the planet. But following Jim’s unnecessary apology, that fear had been eased, only to return once again when the man had swayed and collapsed in his arms. After that, Spock had not allowed the fear to rear its head, as it would have been counterproductive to his efforts to save the man. In the safety of his meditation, however, he acknowledged that he had been terrified the entire time of losing Jim. The emotion was stronger than it should have been after knowing the prince for so short a time, but it was logical to desire that another being’s life continue, especially one as important as Jim.

That settled, Spock moved on to another emotion that had been lurking in the back of his mind—guilt. He felt guilty that Jim had been poisoned and that he had not noticed the signs sooner. The man had seemed mildly uncomfortable during their discussion and the dance that followed, but Spock had attributed that behavior to the subject of their conversation. He should have seen the extent of Jim’s pain sooner. However, there was nothing he could do about that now.  _ Kaiidth. _

Finally, Spock turned his mind to an emotion that felt different than all of the others had. Where his other emotions had been decidedly negative and uncomfortable, this one filled him with a strange warmth, as if he were sitting in the sunlight of his mother’s garden. That warmth emanated from Jim, he knew, but he did not know what name to give it. It was similar to the feeling he had identified in connection to the man a week previously but stronger. He...cared for Jim. Was that what this feeling was? Some part of him was unsatisfied with this answer, but he knew that he would find no other tonight, and so slowly, he began to rouse himself from his meditation.

It was 3:19 in the morning when Spock came back to full awareness, and although he knew his body would likely benefit from sleep, he also knew that there was little hope of achieving a state of unconsciousness when his thoughts were still turned to Jim. Perhaps the doctor would appreciate it if he offered to watch over the prince for a few hours. With that thought in mind, Spock rose from his knees and left his room, not bothering to change from his meditation robe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and King George are ready to tear the kingdom apart to find whoever tried to kill Jim. Jim is very confused.

It was 09:57 when the door to the medical ward hissed open. Spock knew without turning away from Jim’s sleeping form that it was Doctor McCoy who had entered the room, and he could feel the man surveying both him and Jim. What the doctor desired to find in his analysis, Spock did not know, but he found he did not care to divert his energy to do anything to stop it. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on the steady rise and fall of the prince’s chest, empirical proof that Jim was alive, that they had succeeded in their efforts to save him.

Eventually, the doctor stepped into his field of view, arms crossed over his chest. “Have you moved at all in the last five and a half hours, Spock?” The man had taken to forgoing his official title, and although the feeling he got was not the same as when Jim did so, Spock did not mind the omission. 

“I have had no reason to do so,” he replied evenly, finally dragging his eyes away from Jim to meet Leonard’s gaze.

The doctor let out a small huff of air and shook his head. “Well, I won’t pretend to know what that green-blooded biology of yours is capable of, but you didn’t have to sit with him this whole time, you know. I could have gotten one of the nurses—”

“Staying by the prince’s side is not a burden to me, doctor,” Spock interrupted, his eyes drifting back to Jim, roaming over his face, retracing the features that had become so familiar to him over the past several hours. 

“Uh-huh.” There was something in the doctor’s tone of voice that seemed as if it did not belong in the current context, but before Spock could attempt to decipher its meaning, the man continued. “The king would like you to join him for lunch at noon today in his chambers. He didn’t tell me why, but I’d wager it has something to do with this poisoning business.” The doctor’s eyes grew dark for an instant. “So why don’t you head back to your rooms and shower or something. I’ll take care of Jim.”

Spock’s first instinct was to reject the summons, but his logic quickly prevailed. He would be doing Jim a disservice by continuing to remain at his side when his skills could be put to better use identifying his would-be assassin. Even if the doctor was wrong and that was not what the king desired of him, it would be unwise to disobey the order—even if it had been framed as an invitation.

“Very well. Please alert me if there is any change in the prince’s status,” he requested as he rose from his seat, the muscles in his back protesting at the movement after sitting immobile for so long.

Leonard nodded. “Of course, Spock. Let me know if I can do anything to help you catch the devil who did this to Jim.”

“I will,” Spock promised. Then he took one last look at Jim—drinking in the sight of the man looking so peaceful and healthy—before leaving the room and heading back to his own quarters.

. . .

There were several differences between Vulcan and Earth, one of which was the lack of water scarcity on the latter. There had been a time in the planet’s history, Spock knew, when freshwater had been extremely rare, but science had since rectified that problem and the resource was now in abundance. This meant that instead of being limited to the sonic showers he had taken on Vulcan, the shower attached to his room gave him the option of either a sonic or a water shower. Today, despite its disadvantages, he chose water.

The hot liquid—far hotter than any human could comfortably stand, and edging on painful even for him—ran over his body in a way that simultaneously soothed his muscles and made his mind more alert. By the time he stepped out of the shower, he was reasonably refreshed despite his lack of rest the night before.

He toweled off quickly and changed into one of his more formal robes—it was light tan with Vulcan script adorning the edges in a color not unlike the sands of his home planet—before returning to the mirror to fix his hair and reapply his makeup. It was 11:17 by the time he had finished readying himself, giving him approximately thirty-two minutes before he needed to leave his quarters in order to arrive early. 

If the king truly intended to enlist his aid in catching the one responsible for Jim’s nearly fatal experience, it would be beneficial to have all of the facts that he could available to him prior to their meeting. With that in mind, Spock turned on the computer in his room and began to compile all he knew, downloading the data to a separate PADD when he had finished. 

. . .

Jim was floating. The pain had disappeared some time ago—minutes, hours, days—and left him in a strange state of not-being. He was semi-aware of his surroundings, enough to know that there had been someone by his side for an indeterminable amount of time and that it was a different person who was there now. He also knew that whatever danger he had been in was passed, that the people who had worked to save him had succeeded, and that this nothingness he was in now wasn’t something to fear.

He was glad it was over, whatever had happened. Several times he had tried to remember what he had been doing before he had succumbed to the pain that had lit his entire body like a bonfire, but the most he had been able to grasp was the sensation of slowly spinning and a feeling of...warmth? His mind was too fuzzy to recall. Whatever it had been, it had been good, and he hoped that he could recapture that feeling once he emerged from whatever this was.

. . .

“Lord Spock, welcome,” King George Kirk greeted as Spock stepped into the private dining chamber where the king and another man, Captain Gil Arthurson, sat around an intricately carved table.

“My king,” Spock intoned, bowing to the man, “Captain.” Both men nodded back at him, and the king gestured for Spock to join them. He did so, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he waited for the king to explain the reason for his summons. There were a variety of dishes on the table—several appeared to be vegetarian, which Spock appreciated—but he knew lunch was not the primary motive of this gathering.

For several moments there was silence as the captain and king exchanged glances. Finally, King George turned back to Spock, leaning forward slightly, his dark eyes seeming to peer directly into Spock’s soul. The gaze held the intensity of a king in court, and Spock met it evenly. “The poison that nearly killed my son was derived from a flower that grows only on Vulcan. Captain Arthurson believes that makes you a suspect, but he did not see the way you acted last night.”

Spock nodded. It was a logical conclusion to draw given the few facts that were available to the captain, and he was not insulted by it. “My king,” he began, not breaking the man’s gaze as he allowed a hint of his emotions to bleed into his words, “I would sooner die myself than betray the trust that your family and your son have shown me. There is little proof I can offer, but I swear to you that I did not harm your son, nor could I.”

The king’s weathered face softened, and the man nodded. “I know.” He turned to the captain sitting at his side. “Satisfied, Gil?”

The captain’s eyes found Spock’s as he nodded. “I apologize for doubting you, Lord Spock.”

“No apology is necessary, Captain. You were doing your duty.”

“Now that that’s settled,” the king stated, gesturing to the food. “Let’s eat while we figure out how to catch the bastard that did this to my son. If this is the beginning of some plot to undermine my kingdom’s, or Earth’s, unity and partnership with Vulcan, we need to know, and we need to know now.”

. . .

An hour later, Spock left the king’s chambers, surveying the world around him with new eyes and a new responsibility weighing on his chest. The king and queen would be leaving tomorrow for the capital as they were unable to delay their meetings with the High King. Spock knew the last thing that King George wanted to do was leave his son’s side, but the man placed his duty to his High King and his people above his own desires, something that Spock both understood and respected. They would also be able to warn the king of a potential plot intended to undermine the friendship between Vulcan and Earth, which would allow the man the opportunity to place the other kingdoms on alert should this plot extend beyond the Kirk family. Because of their departure, they had left the investigation into the attempted assassination jointly in Captain Arthurson’s and his own hands, requesting daily updates.

As of now, they had no concrete suspects aside from anyone who had attended or planned the ball, which meant that Spock was to share his investigations with no one aside from Doctor McCoy and Jim once he woke. The captain would be handling any in-person interrogations as well as vetting the list of guests, while Spock attempted to trace the purchase and shipment of the gahv-kur tevakh, using any resources he deemed necessary. It was a grave responsibility to be tasked with finding the truth and bringing justice to the one who had done this to Jim, but he embraced it. 

. . .

The nothingness that Jim had been floating in for so long was beginning to change. Slowly, he felt the fog over his mind begin to dissipate, and he became more and more aware of his surroundings. Then, a voice spoke, and this time, he recognized it.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Jim.”

Forcing his eyes to open, Jim saw the face of his best friend. Then Bones moved, and Jim quickly shut his eyes again as harsh light flooded them. Bones chuckled at that and began moving around him, raising the biobed slowly so that Jim was sitting up and making adjustments to the various monitors and machines around him.

After several moments, Jim decided his eyes had adjusted enough to open again, a decision which he immediately regretted. He didn’t close them again, however. Instead, he turned his head to glare at his friend and grumbled, “Why are the lights in here always so bright? Are you trying to blind me?” His voice was somewhat raspy from disuse, but he had sounded worse.

“Yup. I worked my tail off fixing you just so I could blind you as soon as you woke up.” Bones’ voice was dry, but the grin splitting his face ruined it. There must have been a close call or two for his typically dour friend to be so happy to see him awake.

“How long have I been out for, Bones?” Jim asked as he sat up slowly, waiting for some flash of pain to stop him. There was nothing. His throat was sore, of course, and his abs ached as if he had been coughing for a long time, but he’d had worse injuries than that after an allergic reaction before.

“Two days,” Bones replied, absent-mindedly pushing Jim back against the bed. “It’s Sunday evening; your parents had to leave a few hours ago, and they wanted me to tell you they’re sorry they couldn’t stick around to see you wake up.”

Jim blinked. “Two days? I’ve never been out for that long after an allergic reaction before.”

Bones’ face darkened, and he stopped adjusting the biobed to look at Jim fully. “About that, Jim. We’re fairly certain someone at the ball slipped poison into your food or drink.”

Poison? That didn’t make any sense. “Why would anyone poison me? As people of political importance go, I’m a nobody.” He wasn’t first in line for the throne, he didn’t currently hold any important positions, he wasn’t even engaged to anyone important! 

Bones let out a long sigh, and suddenly Jim noticed the deep bags under his friend’s eyes. He doubted the man had gotten more than a few hours of sleep over the last two days. “I don’t know. Maybe someone out there has a personal vendetta, maybe they wanted to get back at your parents for something, hell, maybe the poison wasn’t even meant for you.” He sighed again. “The hobgoblin will figure it out. In the meantime—”

“You mean Spock?” What was Spock doing investigating an attempted assassination? Jim wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling that wasn’t supposed to be a part of the cultural exchange that Spock was here to participate in. 

“Do you know another pointy-eared hobgoblin?”

Jim struggled to sit up again, and this time Bones let him. “He’s not a hobgoblin, Bones. But why is he involved in this? Isn’t this the kind of thing that the royal guard is supposed to do?”

Bones shrugged. “I don’t know, Jim. Your father asked him to get involved. He’s the one who figured out you had been poisoned in the first place—some kind of extract from a flower on Vulcan. I heard Captain Arthurson wanted to interrogate him, but your dad wouldn’t hear it. Now he and Arthurson are working together to figure out who tried to do you in.”

“Well.” It was a lot to take in. He had been poisoned by some kind of Vulcan flower, Spock obviously wasn’t involved but was leading an investigation into it anyway, and his parents were gone, which meant technically he was in charge of overseeing the kingdom until they returned. Stars. 

“Sit tight for a few minutes while I get you something to eat,” Bones said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s easier to wrap your brain around things when you’re doing it on a full stomach.” Jim didn’t have any objections to that, and a few seconds later his friend left the room.

When the door opened again less than a minute later, Jim sat up straighter, a teasing remark about Bones being a mother hen already on his lips when he turned to see not Bones, but Spock standing in the doorway, a box tucked under his arm. His expression, as always, was one of complete neutrality, but Jim thought he could see just a hint of surprise and maybe...gratitude in the man’s eyes.

“My prince, I did not realize you were awake,” he said, bowing slightly. “I apologize for disturbing you. I will return—”

“You aren’t disturbing me, Spock,” Jim blurted out quickly. Those words were too similar to others the Vulcan had spoken, and it had taken him nearly a week to recover from those. He didn’t want to go through that again. “And it’s Jim.”

The Vulcan hesitated for an instant before stepping further into the room, making his way toward a chair that Jim hadn’t noticed before and sitting in it with an ease that suggested Spock had done so several times while he had been unconscious. Spock had visited him. Jim knew that didn’t mean anything—it certainly didn’t mean what he wished it did—but the thought made him smile anyway. 

“What’s in the box?” he asked, his eyes drawn to the package in question as Spock placed it on the small bedside table to Jim’s right. 

“It is a tri-dimensional chess set,” Spock replied. “I had intended to leave it for you as a source of entertainment to occupy you once you woke, although it seems I was too late.”

Jim smiled. “Thank you, Spock, although I have to say the thought of being almost assassinated is probably going to occupy me for a while, no other distraction necessary.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Doctor McCoy informed you of the events that occurred, I presume?”

“Yeah. He said you were the one who figured out I’d been poisoned.” Spock nodded once. “He also said that you’re helping Gil find whoever is responsible. I’m sorry my father put that on your shoulders; if you want I can order Gil to assign your tasks to someone else, or—”

A shadow of an emotion that Jim couldn’t identify flashed across Spock’s face. “Jim, it is logical that I aid the captain in his investigations, especially since the poison is only found on Vulcan. I do not mind.” His voice was even, but Jim could sense resolution behind it; he wouldn’t be able to get Spock to drop it even if he wanted to.

“If you’re certain?”

“I am.”

Jim nodded. “Then how can I help? How much progress has been made so far?”

Before Spock could answer, the door to the room slid open once again to reveal Bones holding a bowl of what smelled like some kind of chicken-based soup in one hand and a hypospray in the other. “Here you go, Jim. White bean and chicken soup, none of which you’re allergic to—a minor miracle. Oh, Spock, I didn’t know you planned on stopin’ by.”

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgment as Jim took the bowl from Bones and stirred the soup. “He was just about to tell me how the investigation is going,” Jim informed, picking up his spoon as he spoke. Bones’ eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Spock spoke again before he had the chance.

“I was not. Doctor McCoy and your father have agreed that you are not to have any knowledge of the progress of the investigation until you have recovered fully,” the Vulcan stated in an even tone, leveling Jim with a look that wasn’t truly a glare but held the same weight and disapproval nonetheless.

The spoon was halfway to Jim’s mouth, but he put it back in the bowl at those words. “What? Come on, Bones, I feel fine! Whatever you two did to fix me worked.”

Bones crossed his arms in front of him. “You aren’t leaving this sick ward until Tuesday at the earliest, and Spock isn’t allowed to talk shop with you until then, and that’s final, Jim. I’m leaving tomorrow, which means I won’t be here to fix your fool hide if you do something stupid before your body’s ready for it.”

Jim wanted to argue further, but between Bones’ glare, Spock’s steady gaze, and the knowledge that his father had signed off on this extended torment, he knew it was hopeless. He sunk back against the biobed and sighed. “Fine. Can you at least tell me what happened? I remember talking with you, Spock, and dancing, but after that everything’s a blank.”

Bones and Spock exchanged a glance—Jim had wanted them to get along, but them teaming up on him had never been part of the plan—before Spock turned back to him. “During our dance you became disoriented, and I attempted to lead you away from the center of the room when you collapsed. I requested one of the nobles to contact Doctor McCoy while I attempted to ascertain your status.” He glanced down. “The doctor arrived, and I transported you to the sick ward—”

“He means he carried you like you were nothing,” Bones broke in. “They weren’t kidding about Vulcan’s having three times the strength of humans.”

Jim felt a blush color his cheeks at that, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside and focused back on what Spock was saying, completely missing the green flush that had momentarily crossed the Vulcan’s face as well. 

“Your parents accompanied us but did not remain for the procedure. I attempted to isolate the proper allergen that had caused your severe reaction—”

“You were barely breathing, Jim, and your temperature was through the roof.”

“—but I could not find a match in the database, so I extended the parameters to substances that would cause a similar reaction in all humans, and discovered that you had somehow ingested an extract derived from the gahv-kur tevakh plant. We were then able to synthesize an antidote using the available materials.”

“A few minutes slower, and you would have died, Jim.”

A heavy weight settled on Jim’s chest at the grave tone of both of his friends’ voices. Someone had tried to kill him, and they had nearly succeeded. “Thank you both. I owe you my life.”

Bones shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; I stopped keeping track a while ago.” Jim gave his friend a grateful smile, praying the man could read the gratitude in his eyes. What would he do without him?

Then Spock spoke up. “You owe me nothing, my prince. I ask only that you obey the instructions of Doctor McCoy and the king regarding your healing.”

Jim felt another smile pull at his lips. Of course Spock would use his life-debt to make sure Jim stayed in bed like he was told. They hadn’t known each other for very long, but the Vulcan could read him like an open book, and Jim was surprised to find that he didn’t mind.

“Only if you’ll stay and play chess with me for a little while,” he replied, and Spock tilted his head as if considering the offer, but Jim could see the faint sparkle in his eyes. Maybe a few more days of bed rest wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has my favorite paragraph in the entire story. Maybe not the best paragraph, but I love it.

Jim tried not to grin like a fool as the nurse attending him gave him a final once-over. After nearly two days of being cooped up in a sick room, he was finally being released. Not that his stay had been completely devoid of entertainment—he and Spock had played seven games of chess in that time, and Jim had won three of them—but he was ready to be finally looped into the investigations now that he was back on his feet.

“You’re all good to go, my prince,” the nurse stated in a deep voice that reminded Jim of rolling drums. “Doctor McCoy has asked me to request that you avoid strenuous activity for the next week, however.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said, allowing a hint of his grin to show. “Thank you, nurse.” The man nodded, and then stood aside. In an instant, Jim was out of the sick ward and making his way to his quarters. He couldn’t wait to take a shower and—why were there two guards following him?

Jim stopped and turned to face the guards. “Sorsha, Xander, please don’t tell me Gil ordered you two to follow me around all day.” They were members of his private detail, the one he was supposed to have whenever he went somewhere outside of the palace on an official trip.

“Yes, sir, he did,” Sorsha stated, bowing slightly. “As you are the only member of the royal family residing in the palace, you are to have the same level of protection as King George would have, were he here.”

So, Gil hadn’t told his soldiers about the attempted assassination. That was smart, seeing as they didn’t know who was involved in the plot, but it also meant that he would have to be careful not to do or say anything suspicious around the guards. He sighed, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair.

“Alright. I assume you’ll be standing watch outside of whatever room I’m in?”

“Yes, sir. You won’t even know we’re there.”

Jim doubted that, but he couldn’t fault them for doing their jobs. Besides, if someone did try and assassinate him again, it would be helpful to have two armed guards nearby. Assuming neither of them was a part of the plot to kill him, of course. Stars above.

. . .

He had just gotten out of the shower—the hot water had felt  _ fabulous _ on his still-sore body—and was struggling to pull his shirt over his head when he heard a knock on his door. “Come in!” he called, his voice muffled by the fabric. When he finally managed to get his shirt on, he stepped out of his bathroom and was met with the sight of Spock standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind him and looking as impeccable as ever.

“Afternoon, Spock,” he greeted, gesturing for the Vulcan to step past Jim’s bed to join him in the living area beyond. “Finally ready to tell me what’s going on?”

Spock stopped just short of the threshold. Suddenly, Jim was self-conscious of his quarters, which Spock had only seen a small portion of before. “Typically people have a living area and then their bedroom, I know, and I did, once, but I switched the two a while ago, so I sleep where my couch used to be and now I have a couch and a desk in here and a bunch of books, which are illogical, I know, but—” Jim cut himself off, furiously fighting back a blush. He only had one couch, and Spock probably didn’t want to sit that close to him.

“Why don’t you take the couch?” he suggested, his voice much more controlled this time. Without waiting for the Vulcan to respond, he cleared off the corner of his desk and perched on the edge, turning so that he could face the couch. Spock raised an eyebrow at his behavior but didn’t comment on his choice of seating as he took his place on the couch.

There was silence for a few moments, and Jim could feel Spock’s eyes drifting over him, searching for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it, for he sat up a little straighter and then began to speak. “Since you have been released from the sick ward, I see no reason to withhold information pertaining to the investigation of your attempted assassination any longer. However, I must warn you that there is very little information to share.”

Jim simply nodded at him, serious once more.

. . .

As it turned out, when Spock said ‘very little information’ what he meant was that he had tracked the shipment of the flower from an exotic greenhouse on Vulcan using his father’s contacts to a lab in the city that specialized in cures made from off-world sources. There was no record of who specifically had placed the order, but he had discovered that half a dozen of the plants had been ordered, enough to create thirty more doses of the stuff that had nearly killed him.

“However, I am unable to further the investigation without determining who within the lab placed the order, as the shipment is technically legal—the plant is only poisonous if distilled properly. When utilized in other ways, the gahv-kur tevakh can have a number of restorative benefits.”

Jim frowned in thought. Spock had done incredible work finding out that much in as short a time as he had, but all that work would be meaningless if they couldn’t follow the rest of the trail back to the person who had ordered the plant. “Do we know who runs the lab?” he finally asked, the beginnings of a plan spinning in his mind.

“Doctor Lyra Emerson is the chief researcher,” Spock replied instantly. “She is currently off-world, however, and the lab is under the direction of her assistant, Doctor Thi Trung.”

“Does the lab hold any government contracts?”

Spock nodded slowly, catching on to Jim’s train of thought. “Emerson Curatives currently holds a contract regarding research into cures for the Grithian Flu. They have held the contract for two years and have made considerable progress but have not yet isolated a reliable cure.”

“So, if I were to stop by with you to show you innovative research as part of your cultural exchange while also checking up on their progress into a cure, it’d be reasonable?”

“It would not be unreasonable,” Spock replied evenly, but Jim could see the way the corner of his mouth pulled up a fraction as he spoke. “However, you would need to find a way to turn the conversation to the gahv-kur tevakh plant without raising suspicions.”

Jim grinned. Now that he had a plan—even if it was just the bare bones of one—he felt like he could do anything he put his mind to. If he was honest with himself, the thought of an assassin lurking in the shadows unnerved him, and this would allow him to start taking the fight to them instead of hiding scared. “Well, I’m sure the good people of Emerson Curatives wouldn’t mind discussing their findings relating to the gahv-kur tevakh with a Vulcan. Who knows, you might give them some insight they hadn’t thought of before.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. “I do not plan on sharing information with people who could very well be your enemies, Jim.”

That sobered him up. “Of course not, Spock. I just—” he gestured vaguely with his hands, nearly sending the stack of PADDs he had shoved out of the way earlier toppling to the ground. “I just don’t want to think that everyone is out to get me. As far as we know, this could just be one person acting alone, and now that they’ve failed, they might give up on trying to kill me. Or maybe it was all an accident. I don’t know, but I’d like to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

For several moments, Spock didn’t reply, simply looking at him, something swirling in his eyes that Jim couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and he had to resist the urge to fidget under the intensity of the Vulcan’s gaze. Finally, Spock broke the silence.

“If you are decided on this course of action, I shall inform Captain Arthurson. When will we be visiting the lab?”

That gaze hadn’t changed, but Jim forced himself to speak anyway. “How about tomorrow? No sense in giving them time to get rid of the evidence, if they really are involved.” Spock nodded and started to rise and an unreasonable burst of panic flared through him. “Wait, if you aren’t busy, we could catch up on my Vulcan language lessons?” The statement came out more as a question, and Jim wished he didn’t sound so desperate to stay in Spock’s company. Over the past few days, however, Spock had been the one who had kept him sane by spending at least a couple of hours at his side, and he wasn’t eager for that to change.

Thankfully, the Vulcan didn’t seem to mind. “If that is what you wish, I have nothing on my schedule for the next several hours. I do not have any of the materials we have been using previously, however.”

“That’s fine. I still have that book you gave me last week. I’m about halfway through translating it, but I’d appreciate an explanation of a few of the grammatical concepts, especially surrounding honorifics,” Jim said, and they spent the next two hours discussing the book and Jim’s translations. After about twenty minutes, Jim moved to sit on the couch by Spock so that he could see what the Vulcan was pointing to in the book, and for a few precious moments, he let himself forget that there was an assassin somewhere trying to kill him and just enjoyed the sound of Spock’s rich voice washing over him.

. . .

Jim carried himself like a king. Several times throughout their acquaintance, the man had stated that he had no desire to ever be king and was glad the role would fall to his elder brother, but privately, Spock believed Jim was destined for something greater than a lifetime spent as a mere advisor. It was in the way he spoke, firmly ordering his guards to stay behind with the hover car they had taken to reach Emerson Curatives. It was in the way he walked, striding up to the doors of the lab with firm, deliberate steps. It was in the way he stood, feet slightly apart and steady, as they waited to be buzzed in. There was a power about him that demanded to be obeyed. Not in a cruel or unjust way, but in the way that universal laws had to be obeyed. They simply were, and existence formed around them. Even the light that shone through the branches of the large oak trees outside of the lab seemed drawn to him.

The soft click of the door unlocking drew Spock from his musings with a start. A burst of shame ran through him as he realized how distracted he had been—they were here to investigate an assassin; his mindless wanderings had no place in such a situation. 

“After you, Lord Spock,” Jim declared with a grin, and even as Spock stepped past him into the cool building he couldn’t help but notice the way the light glinted off the coronet that sat so perfectly on Jim’s brow. 

The inside of the building was pristine, decorated in sleek greys and deep blues. They had stepped into what appeared to be a reception area, complete with a small water feature framed by two low couches, as well as a desk where a young woman sat, mouth hanging slightly open as she took in her visitors. 

“My prince!” she yelped, blushing furiously as she attempted to rise from her desk only to have her foot catch on the edge of her chair. “I had no idea you were coming today, I’m so sorry.”

Jim grinned one of those blinding grins and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it Miss—”

“Savannah Morehouse,” the woman said breathlessly, finally managing to extract herself from her desk and curtsy. The movement was unsteady but sincere and served to widen Jim’s grin further.

“Well then, don’t worry about it, Miss Morehouse. I’m sure the schedule only said that an official from the palace was stopping by, but I’ve been meaning to show Lord Spock some of our finest places of innovation for a couple of weeks now, so we decided to stop by ourselves,” Jim said easily. “Would you let Doctor Trung know we’re here?”

“Of course! Please, make yourselves comfortable while I fetch him.” The woman turned and hurried down the hallway to the right, leaving Spock and Jim alone in the waiting room.

“Well, step one complete. We’re inside,” Jim declared, a magnetic grin still lighting his face. He turned and sat on the couch closest to him, leaning against the back with an easy grace. “Come on, sit down. It’ll probably be a few minutes before she’s back.”

Spock obeyed, seating himself on the other end of the couch that Jim had chosen, his own posture far stiffer than the prince’s. “I do not believe we should congratulate ourselves yet, Jim. The first step was the easiest of the plan.”

Jim’s grin faltered, and Spock inwardly berated himself for dimming the man’s happiness, no matter how correct he had been in his summary of the situation. “You’re right, of course. Besides, I could probably get into ninety percent of the buildings in this city without so much as a reservation. Not that I’d want to. I always hate it when I show up somewhere and there’s an entire committee of people there to meet me.”

Spock nodded. That was something he could somewhat understand. His father had served as an ambassador of Vulcan to a number of planets over the years, and thus whenever they visited, there was always some kind of celebration thrown for them. He had never much enjoyed the attention and had often wished that he had the chance to experience these cultures without the fanfare his father’s name necessitated. 

They lapsed into silence then, and as always, Spock was amazed by how  _ comfortable _ that silence was. Too often when he found himself in the company of others, any silence was a sign of some social failing on his part, but with Jim, it was simply a companionable quiet when nothing needed to be said. After a few moments, however, Jim spoke again, concern coloring his voice.

“If any of these people really are involved in the attempt to kill me, we could be walking into a trap here, Spock. If it’s just me they’re after, I don’t want to put you in more danger—”

“I am accompanying you,” Spock interrupted, his voice brooking no argument. “We have discussed this already, Jim. I promised your father that I would do all I could to protect you, and that is not a promise that I intend to break at the first hint of danger.”

Jim blushed—the pink color dusting his cheeks in a way that reminded Spock of a Terran dawn—and was about to respond when footsteps sounded down the hallway. They both looked up to see Miss Morehouse and a man in his early forties—Doctor Trung, presumably. 

“My prince,” the doctor greeted, an accent Spock didn’t quite recognize coloring the words, as Jim and Spock both stood from the couch. “This is a pleasant surprise. I had expected someone from the research council when I saw that a palace representative was visiting today.”

Jim nodded with an easy smile. “I know, but I was reading your lab’s reports, and I knew it was the perfect place to bring Lord Spock to show him Earth’s innovative research in action,” he said, nodding to Spock, who inclined his head to the doctor respectfully. “He hails from Vulcan and is most interested in the research you’ve been doing here.”

The doctor’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah, we have relations with a couple of our research counterparts on Vulcan. Perhaps we could discuss the similarities and differences when we have finished?”

“If time permits, we may.”

Jim grinned again. “Good! Well, Doctor, why don’t we get the official reason for this visit out of the way? I’m curious to see how you’ve approached your recent research into the Grithian Flu, especially after that last outbreak on Devanon VII.”

The next hour was spent touring the facilities and surveying the various labs where research regarding the flu was being done. Spock stayed on the peripheral of the conversations, content to allow Jim to guide the discussions where he felt they should go. It was clear that the man had spent time learning about the flu and the research that Emerson Curatives was doing to combat it, as he was able to carry the conversation with ease and asked insightful, relevant questions. Eventually, however, the conversation reached its end, Doctor Trung looking pleased at what Jim had commented on and praised him for.

“Was there anything else you wished to see, my prince, Lord Spock?” the doctor asked as they exited the last lab where two scientists had been analyzing data that indicated a plant from the Devanon system might contain a reliable cure if properly synthesized. 

Jim glanced at Spock, and the Vulcan nodded. “I read that you have been experimenting with the gahv-kur tevakh plant from Vulcan. ‘Purple death’ it is called in Standard,” he stated. “I would be interested in seeing what you have done with it and whether your experiments differ from those on my home planet.”

“Of course! The shipment of those plants just came in a few weeks ago, so we haven’t started all of our experiments yet, but I’d be glad to show you what we have so far and get your insight on it. If that is acceptable to you, my prince?”

“Lead on, Doctor.”

. . .

Jim watched as Spock discussed the research that Emerson Curatives had done thus far into the plant as they walked to where the plants were being stored. Apparently, they hadn’t done much in the past few weeks, and the longer Jim listened, the less he thought that Doctor Trung was involved in the assassination attempt. He seemed genuinely passionate about the research they were doing and had been going on about the various restorative properties of the plant for the last several minutes.

Finally, they arrived at the storage area, and Doctor Trung keyed in a password. The door clicked and he turned the handle, inviting them both in after him. “We’ve been keeping the plants in a special area of this storage facility,” he explained as he walked toward the back of the room past several large crates and tables covered in boxes and small planters that were currently empty. “They come from a very dry, very hot climate, so we’ve done our best to recreate those conditions while we prepare for the experiments. Give me just a minute to change the viewer here. We keep it opaque typically, but making it transparent for a few minutes won’t do any damage.” He keyed in another sequence to a pad next to a black pane as he spoke, and a moment later the pane lightened. As it did so, the man let out a gasp.

Inside the room were six flowering plants that reminded Jim of roses except that the purple flowers were much larger, close to the size of his spread hand. There were four flowers on each plant, except for the one on the far left. That one looked as if it had been attacked by some kind of wild animal. Its leaves were slashed, and three of the flowers were shredded, the petals barely clinging to the plant anymore. One of the flowers was missing entirely, and the stem looked as if it had been cut clean off. 

“I—I don't understand. These flowers have been under lock and key since they arrived here,” the man murmured, staring at the destruction on the other side of the glass. 

“Who knows the code?” Jim asked, speaking for the first time since they had stepped into the room.

The doctor shook his head. “I do, Doctor Emerson does of course, and a few of the members of the research council. I suppose it could have been hacked, but…” the man trailed off and shook his head again as if he couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him.

“Doctor,” Jim said, drawing the man’s attention once again. “I would like to assist you in catching the person who did this. If you could provide me with the list of everyone involved in your research into the gahv-kur tevakh as well as a list of those who know the code to this storage area, I promise you I will devote a portion of my personal investigative force to this.”

The man blinked slowly, not seeming to truly register what he had said. Jim waited a few moments longer, giving the doctor time to adjust before pressing on. “This plant is called the purple death for a reason, Doctor, and we need to find whoever did this before anyone gets hurt.”

That seemed to snap the man back to reality. “Yes, yes, of course, my prince. Follow me to my office, and I will get you all of the information that I have.”

. . .

Three hours later, Jim was sitting around a table in his father’s quarters with Gil and Spock discussing what they had found. “This is quite the list of people, James,” Gil said as he set the PADD Jim had handed him to the side. “I can handle everyone outside of the palace, but there are five people on the research council here that I can’t get close to without raising their suspicions.”

Jim nodded. “I figured as much. I have a few meetings with the research council on my schedule already, and I’m sure I can find a way to crash a few more.”

Gil looked at him, concern written on his grizzled face. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this? These are people you’ve known your entire life, you’ve trusted, and one of them might be trying to kill you. Are you sure you’re ready to investigate them and learn all their dirty secrets? Even if none of them are responsible, you’re still going to learn things you won’t like.”

A bitter laugh crawled its way up Jim’s throat, and he wasn’t able to swallow it in time. “No, I’m not ready, Gil. I’m not ready to look my mentors and advisors in the eye and wonder if they tried to kill me, but I don’t really have a choice.”

The captain nodded slowly. “Be careful, James. If it really is someone in the palace, you need to watch your back.”

“I will. Now, what’s the list look like once we cross-reference it with the list of everyone involved in the ball?”

Gil pulled up the new list, and the three of them worked together, isolating names and coming up with plans until long after the sun had set.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim opens up a little more, and Spock begins to realize that he would do anything to protect Jim.

Eight meetings. He had attended eight research council meetings in three days. He didn’t even know the council met that often, but apparently there were a few different projects they were overseeing that were extremely time-sensitive and required frequent updates. If he weren’t so worried about trying to find out who wanted him dead, he might have found the projects interesting, but as it was, the meetings had left him exhausted, and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. 

At first, the council had seemed surprised to see him there, but soon enough he was able to mostly fade into the background and simply observe. There were five councilors from his father’s court on the actual research council, although several of the meetings had been attended by others as well. Those five were all people he had known since he was two feet tall, and the thought of any of them being involved in an assassination attempt against him made his stomach turn.

Alexander Greer had been there when he was born and had been a friend of the family since before his father had become king. Rh’ysh Ngara had been the first person to encourage Jim to join Starfleet, and although his encouragement had stopped once his father had made it known that he didn’t want Jim to go, he still occasionally sent updates about the ‘Fleet and the Academy. Sarah Ricci and Chin-sun Man had both been friends with his mother for years and had been among the first to try and get Jim to open up again after Tarsus. And Laura, of course, whom he had known since he could crawl and had dated for almost a year. 

Stars above, this made his head hurt. Jim glanced at his chronometer and saw that he had about an hour before he was supposed to meet with Spock to “study Vulcan”. In actuality, they had spent most of their time together when not in meetings discussing motives each of the council members had to kill him as well as looking into their financial records, family history, and everything in between. The thought of doing that again for several hours only served to strengthen his headache, and he decided that the best thing to do would be to take a nap. Bones was always telling him to sleep more anyway.

With that thought, he made his way from his desk to his bed, shrugging off his formal jacket and tossing it over his chair haphazardly as he went. He toed off his shoes and collapsed face-first on his bed. By the time he had rolled onto his side, he was already half asleep.

. . .

Spock had approximately fifty-four minutes before Jim was due to arrive at his quarters, and he had already decided to spend them in meditation. There were other things he could have utilized the time for, such as reporting home to his parents—a task he had completed only once during his stay on Earth—but he had discovered recently that his already-tenuous emotional controls were further weakened in the presence of the prince, and it took a great deal of focus to keep them in place. If he desired to continue to perform at his peak efficiency, he would need to strengthen his mental shields.

Typically, doing so was not difficult. Proper Vulcans rarely needed to dedicate an entire meditative session to such a basic practice, but Spock found that when he did, he emerged with shields that were nigh unbreakable. Until he had met Jim, of course.

Around the prince, it seemed as if all of his mental training, all of the teachings of his father and the various instructors he had studied under in his childhood vanished, evaporating like a drop of water on the Fire Plains of his homeworld. Something about the easiness of the man’s smile, the openness of his gaze, wore down his shields in a way nothing else had before. 

Regardless of the cause of his shields’ decay, it was necessary that he repair them before the man arrived and he knelt on his meditation mat for this purpose, eyes easily slipping closed as he focused on centering his body before centering his mind. Soon enough, time began to slip away as he carefully constructed the walls around his mind, repairing them one by one, patching up every hole where Jim’s light had burst through.

. . .

_ Everything was dark and silent. Not the comfortable kind of silence, but the kind that pressed on his eardrums until he thought that they would burst. An irrational part of his brain wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything that would shatter this endless quiet, but he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, curled into a ball in the darkness, breathing as quietly and infrequently as he could. He had to stay silent, otherwise, they would find him, just like they had found everyone else.  _

_ Suddenly the darkness was pierced by a blinding ray of light, and he let out an involuntary hiss, his filthy hands scrabbling to cover his eyes. Even behind his hands, he could see the light brighten until it filled every corner of his vision. There was a beat where the silence remained and then, _

_ “What’s this? A child? Kodos thought he had got the last of you in the last raid. Guess he was wrong.” The voice was harsh and filled with a sadistic glee that made his empty stomach twist and churn. He wanted to run, to hide, but they had stripped the safety of the dark and the quiet from him, so instead, he lowered his hands, blinking against the brilliant light. _

_ “Leave me alone.” He had meant the words to be fierce and threatening, but they were as weak as he was. He had been hiding for too long, eating too little, for them to be anything else. But he wouldn’t give in to this monster, not without a fight. _

_ “I don’t think so, boy,” the man sneered, and suddenly there were hands grabbing his thin frame, clutching his wrists so hard he thought they would shatter in the man’s grip. “You’re the one who’s been stealin’ from the food storage, aren’t ya? Kodos’ll pay me a whole week’s worth of food to turn you in.” _

_ “Let go of me,” he said, trying to keep his voice level as fear clawed desperately at his insides, trying to escape the doomed body it was trapped in. “Let go of me and I’ll show you how to sneak into the storage. Then you won’t have to rely on Kodos to feed you anymore.” _

_ The man’s grip only tightened. “What? And become a starved gutter rat like you? I don’t think so, kid. You’re comin’ with me, and you’re gonna get what you deserve.” He barely had time to scream as the man hit him on the back of the head with something big and heavy, and then his vision went black once more. _

_ The world around him wasn’t blindingly white anymore. It was shadowed and grey and he was running, running for his life, except when he glanced behind him, there was nothing there. Something deep and primal told him that if he stopped running, he would die, so he didn’t. He darted between shadowy columns and down a hall that looked vaguely familiar but terribly wrong. He flung open a door, and suddenly he was in a ballroom, phantom shades spinning around him. _

_ As one they turned on him, and he realized with horror that their faces were shifting between people he knew and monstrous creatures. He stumbled backward only to hit another shade, the leader of a group that was pressing in on him from behind. His eyes darted around the shadowed ballroom for an escape route, but there were too many of the shadows, too many of the monsters.  _

_ They began to inch forward, pressing closer and closer until all he could see was an ocean of shadows wearing the faces of people he called his friends. He screamed. The phantoms didn’t care. _

_. . . _

Spock broke from his meditation with a start. He blinked, regaining awareness of his surroundings and then glanced around for some sign of what had roused him from his concentration. He had made great progress; his shields were now stronger than they had been since he had first arrived on Earth. 

There was no sign of anything that could have disturbed his meditation. His door was closed, his incense was still burning, his drapes were drawn across the window so that the changing of the light would not distract him. He listened intently for several moments, wondering if perhaps he had heard a commotion outside of his door, but all was silent. 

Then, his internal chronometer reasserted itself, and he realized that Jim should have arrived twenty minutes ago. He had been so absorbed by his work in repairing and constructing his shields that he had not given the passage of time a portion of his attention as he should have. But his inattention did not explain why Jim had not arrived. 

In the same instant that that realization flashed across his mind, Spock was on his feet and striding toward the door. He flung it open, not caring as it slammed shut behind him, echoing in the empty hallway. It was possible that Jim had simply become distracted by something else which caused him to miss their appointment, but it was also possible that something had happened to the man, and the possibility was too large for Spock to ignore. 

The guards outside of Jim’s door looked surprised to see him, but he paid their reactions no mind. “Is the prince inside?” he asked, and despite his successful meditation, he couldn’t keep all of the tension out of his voice, although he doubted the guards would notice. 

The one on the right nodded. “Yes, Lord Spock. He has given his express permission for you to enter at any time if you wish to do so.” Spock decided not to dwell on the fact that he would have entered Jim’s room regardless of whether he had permission or not and instead opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn in front of Jim’s windows and the lights off. His eyes adjusted quickly, however, and he scanned the room. There was no sign of any danger to Jim, and the man was lying on his bed, curled into a tight ball under his covers. Spock allowed an infinitesimal sigh to escape his lips. Jim was not in danger.

He was about to leave the room—the last few days had been stressful for the prince, and the man deserved to rest—when Jim rolled toward Spock. Terror was written in every line of his sleeping face.

Spock was frozen in place, gazing in horror at the pain he could read so easily in Jim’s expression, when the man opened his mouth and a sharp scream clawed its way from the man’s throat and cut Spock to the bone. In an instant, the door behind him flew open and the two guards rushed into the room, their phasers pointed at Spock.

“I have done nothing to the prince,” Spock stated, injecting a calm into his voice that he did not truly feel. “He is dreaming. I will help him, but I do not believe he would desire the presence of anyone not strictly necessary.”

The guards exchanged glances and seemed to debate his words, but then another scream came from the bed, and Spock could stay still no longer. He rushed to Jim’s side, gesturing with one hand for the guards to leave them. He barely heard the door close behind them as he knelt by the bed, his hands hovering above Jim’s sleeping form.

There were a number of techniques he knew to calm a troubled mind and convince the body to fall back into a restful, dreamless pattern of sleep, but they all required that he meld with Jim, and to perform a meld on someone who had not given their explicit permission was a crime of the highest degree. But perhaps a one-sided connection…

Without allowing himself to truly think through the ethical quandaries of what he was doing, Spock placed his fingers over the pulse-point on Jim’s wrist, grasping the hand firmly but not harshly. For a moment, Spock thought that the man would pull away, but instead, Spock felt the muscles under his hand relax fractionally. 

Carefully, very very carefully, Spock opened his shields enough to allow him to push feelings of safety, reassurance, comfort, and protection through his fingers and into Jim’s skin. The connection wasn’t strong enough to allow him to see any of Jim’s thoughts, but even still he could feel an echo of the terror that was coursing through the man’s veins.

He sent another wave of comfort, this time calling to his mind specific memories when he had felt the safest and pushing the feelings that had accompanied those memories into Jim’s mind. Memories of his mother singing in her garden, of the feeling of I-Chaya’s fur under his fingers, of the smell of plomeek soup drifting across the sands of his home. Slowly, he felt the terror in Jim’s mind diminish, and he broke the shallow connection. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Jim blinking up at him.

“Spock?” The prince’s voice was fragile and hoarse, and it made Spock’s heart clench in his side. “What—what are you doing here?”

Suddenly, Spock was self-conscious of his position, leaning at the man’s bedside, his upper body nearly parallel with the sheets. He straightened suddenly and stood, stepping backward. Something flashed in Jim’s eyes, but the fear that still lingered there distorted the emotion, and Spock was unable to identify it.

“I apologize, my pr—Jim,” he said quietly. “I was meditating in anticipation of your arrival and misjudged the passage of time. When I realized that you should have arrived but had not, I came to find you. Your guards let me in, and I saw that you were asleep.” He suddenly found it difficult to meet the man’s open gaze. “I was going to leave you to your rest when you...cried out. Instead, I initiated a shallow one-sided meld that enabled me to project calm and security into your mind.”

Jim sat up slowly, and silence fell over them. Spock felt like he should leave—what right did he have to see Jim so open, so vulnerable—but something held him in his place. “You pulled me out of my nightmare,” Jim said eventually, and although it wasn’t a question, Spock nodded. “Well, I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I thought a nap would be safe, but I guess I was wrong.” There was self-reproach in the man’s voice that didn’t belong there, and Spock took a half-step forward.

“There is no need for apology, Jim,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, taking in the prince’s disheveled condition, the weariness written plainly in the slump of his shoulders and the lines of his face. “Do these dreams occur often?”

For a few moments, Spock thought that the man wouldn’t answer, as was his right. The question had been personal and out of line, but Spock found he wanted to know regardless. The thought of Jim suffering like this with any frequency made his heart turn in his side.

Finally, the man sighed and leaned against his headboard. “Yeah.” There was a silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. “Do you know anything about the Tarsus IV massacres?”

All at once, the reality of what Jim was implying sunk in, and Spock’s breath caught in his throat. It was all he could do to nod as his mind ran through all the implications of Jim’s words, all the horrors that the man must have experienced.

Jim sighed again, shifting so that his legs were pulled under him on the bed. “Sit down, Spock. This isn’t the kind of conversation to have standing.” Spock obeyed, perching on the edge of the man’s bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“I was on Tarsus spending time with some distant relatives. Dad wanted me to experience life as something other than a prince, so no one on the planet aside from my family knew who I was,” Jim began, his eyes taking on a distant quality. “When the famine struck, we were pretty well-off, and we took in a bunch of other kids and fed them as much as we could. Then Kodos instituted martial law and called everyone together for a big meeting. We didn’t know then, what he would do. At that meeting, we all registered, ostensibly so we could be issued rations, but the real reason was so that Kodos could measure us all to his idea of the perfect human.

“A week later, another meeting was called, except this time not everyone was required to attend. I was the only one in my family not on the list, so I stayed behind and waited for them to come back. They never did. I tried to protect some of the other kids, but eventually, I was dragged to Kodos for stealing from his food supply. I escaped after a while, and a week later Starfleet showed up.

“For the most part, Tarsus didn’t have any lasting effects for me, not the way it did for some of the others, but I have nightmares pretty frequently, panic attacks every now and then. Bones had been giving me medication for the dreams, but they’ve been happening less often recently, so I’m weaning myself off the meds. Guess that was a mistake.”

“Jim,” the name escaped Spock’s mouth on a breath, but he had no words to follow it. What could he say? Everything that came to mind sounded hollow and insincere. When nothing better presented itself, he settled for unclasping his hands and placing one on Jim’s leg nearest to him in a gesture he hoped conveyed his regret and desire to provide comfort. 

Thankfully, the man seemed to understand. “Anyway, it was a long time ago, and I know that doesn’t make my trauma disappear or anything, but I’ve pretty much moved past it, aside from the dreams.” He smiled, and Spock felt his heart leap. After everything, all of the pain he had so easily seen in Jim’s eyes, the man smiled, and it was sincere. “Thank you for being here, Spock. Whatever you did really helped.”

“Your thanks are as unnecessary as your apologies, Jim. I am grateful that I was able to be of service.”

Jim’s smile widened, and Spock could practically feel his shields crumbling. “Would you mind if we stayed here to go over everything? I know you didn’t bring any of your PADDs with you, but I really don’t feel like getting changed again. I could have one of the guards get them for you, if you want.”

“That will not be necessary. I have all of the relevant information committed to memory.”

“Of course you do,” Jim shook his head, his smile still dancing on his lips. “Come on, we should probably move to the couch.”

. . .

Jim followed Spock to the living area, desperately trying to read something, anything in the set of the man’s shoulders. Spock had been silent while he explained Tarsus and hadn’t offered the standard apologies or condolences, which Jim appreciated. Unfortunately, that meant that he didn’t know what was going on inside the Vulcan’s mind. Did Spock think he was weak for still being haunted by his past? Jim didn’t think Spock would judge him, but a tiny voice in his head warned that he was a broken man and that Spock would see that soon enough if he didn’t see it already. No, he refused to believe that. 

He shook his head, trying in vain to clear it of the conflicting voices and fears. Spock must have seen him out of the corner of his eye, for he stopped a foot from the couch and turned so that he was facing Jim fully. “Are you certain you wish to discuss the investigation now?” There was no judgement in his tone—another might have said that there wasn’t much of anything in his tone, but Jim knew better—only concern. 

“I’m fine, Spock,” he assured, stepping past him to grab two of the PADDs on his desk before plopping onto the couch. “Now, what conclusions have you come to about the council members’ motives?”

Spock regarded him for a moment longer before sitting on the couch, leaving ample space between them even as he angled his body toward him. “I believe that Rh’ysh Ngara has the most evident motive of all of the council members to desire your death,” he responded, his voice regaining that analytical tone it always took whenever he was describing facts and statistics.

Jim nodded, ignoring the way his heart seemed to freeze a little in his chest. He had known going into this that someone wanted him dead. He had to get used to the idea that it could be someone he had known forever, someone he had thought he could trust with his life. “Why do you say that?”

“Lord Ngara is one of the most qualified diplomats in your father’s court. Aside from yourself, he is the most likely person to be chosen as your brother’s chief advisor when he takes the throne,” Spock said. “He also favors a large number of policies that are not in line with those your father espouses, and if he desires any of his proposed plans to be put in place, he will need a position of greater authority.”

A sigh escaped Jim before he could stop it. “Okay. I know the policies that you’re talking about—he and my father have argued about them a couple of times, but it never seemed hostile. Dad has always said he wants multiple viewpoints, including those that don’t line up with his own, when he makes decisions, both on domestic policies and on policies regarding Earth’s galactic relations that the kingdom’s in charge of. But you’re right, there are some pretty major projects that my father has vetoed that Ngara wanted. Does he have any connections to Emerson Curatives?”

Spock tilted his head a fraction, and Jim knew he was recalling information he had memorized in the same way Jim might pull up an article on his PADD. “Aside from his position on the council, Lord Ngara does not have any relations with the workers of Emerson Curatives that I have discovered. However, he was at the lab four days before your attempted assassination to oversee an important Grithian Flu experiment. He would have had access to the gahv-kur tevakh plants and could have easily smuggled one of the flowers out of the building.”

The timing of that visit could be a coincidence, of course, but Jim had to admit that it was a pretty damning one. Nothing that would hold up in any kind of court, of course, but enough for him to want to look into it further. “Alright, Spock. Let’s keep an eye on Ngara. I’ll see what his schedule is and try and stage a few coincidental run-ins, see if we can get him to slip up. Let’s also dig into his personal past a little more and find out what else he and my father have disagreed on in the past, whether revenge might play a role in this as well.”

Spock nodded, but Jim could see hesitation in the motion.

“What is it, Spock?”

The Vulcan’s lips twitched as if he wanted to frown but wouldn’t allow himself the freedom. “If you desire, I could investigate Lord Ngara on my own while you attend to your other duties. You have been overworked as of late.”

Jim couldn’t help the weary grin that spread across his face as he clapped Spock reassuringly on the shoulder. “I can pull double duty for a while longer. I’m not letting you investigate a potential assassin on your own, Spock.”

“Very well.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another council meeting. This one, however, does not go exactly as Jim thought it would.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Spock might have been right when he had said that Jim was overworked. After they had finished talking on Saturday they had shared dinner together, and then Spock had left to meditate and whatever else the Vulcan did when he wasn’t at Jim’s side. In an effort to distract himself Jim had commed Sam, not really expecting his brother to answer. Sam had, however, and they talked for about an hour of what Sam was doing on Vulcan, the things he had learned from the Elders, his latest conversation with Aurelan, and everything in between. Jim didn’t tell him about the assassination attempt.

He slept fitfully that night.

There hadn’t been any meetings that he had needed to attend on Sunday, and although he was grateful for that, it meant that he actually had time to catch up on all of the other things he had been putting off. His schedule was normally pretty lax, but he did have duties that came with his position, plus those his father had left for him. So, paperwork and holo-messages had ended up taking up his entire morning and most of his afternoon. By the time he had finished, the sun had been only a few hours from setting. He had spent those few hours in the gym, trying to make his body echo the exhaustion of his mind.

Now, it was Monday morning, he had slept maybe four hours, and he was  _ tired.  _ Unfortunately, assassination plots wait for no man, especially not their target, so he pulled himself out of bed as his clock chimed 0600 and got ready for the day.

When his father was in the palace, Jim never wore his coronet. It drove his mom crazy, but he hated the feeling of its weight on his head, heavy with expectations and responsibilities. Now that he was the only member of the royal family present, however, he had no choice, and as he slipped the coronet on, he felt the full burden of that fact. He idly wondered if he could put ‘dealt with the stresses of being the de-facto leader of an entire kingdom while investigating my own attempted assassination’ on an application to the Starfleet Academy. He had training in working under pressure if nothing else.

He shook his head to clear it—he needed to focus today—and grabbed one of his PADDs off of his desk before striding out of his quarters. He thought about skipping his trip to the kitchens and heading straight to the library where he was supposed to meet up with Spock before the Research Council meeting at 0745, but his mind conjured an image of Bones scowling at him, and decided that breakfast was probably a good idea. If the doctor ever found out how many meals he had skipped the past few days, the man would kill him.

“Good morning, my prince,” a shrill, elderly voice greeted as he stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. “What can I get you this morning?”

Jim grinned. Belle Antin, or Grandma Belle as she preferred to be called, had always reminded Jim of a Hobbit from the ancient stories of J.R.R. Tolkien. She was short—her head barely met his chest—and plump and always smiling. And she had a way with food that he was certain was beyond a human’s capabilities. 

“Something quick, if you can,” he replied, stepping out of her way as she bustled past him to gently correct the whisking technique of a young cook. “I’m supposed to meet up with someone in a few minutes.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval at him, but a few moments later turned back with a large muffin she seemed to have pulled from thin air.

“I suppose any food is better than nothing,” she mused as she handed the muffin—strawberry and cream he thought—over. “You need to eat more, James. It’s bad enough that Samuel is off being fed who knows what on a different planet; you’re home and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in days.”

Jim grinned sheepishly. He may wear the crown, but in Grandma Belle’s kitchen, his rank meant nothing at all. “I do have a food synthesizer in my room, you know.”

“Bah! Scientists can say what they like about their fancy toys, but nothing will ever beat a home-cooked meal. Your friend Leonard knows that well. Nancy, honey, the recipe says baking soda not baking powder!”

Another grin split Jim’s face as he watched the small woman shake her head and cross the room to help another young cook. “Thank you, Grandma Belle,” he called after her, knowing the woman was already too engaged in her latest project to acknowledge him. Then, he slipped out of the kitchen, biting into his newly-acquired muffin as he made his way toward the library. 

. . .

The door to the library opened with a faint creak, causing Spock to look up from his book. He had taken to reading from the library’s collection a little each morning before his day truly began, and as illogical as it was, he found that he enjoyed the feeling of a bound book in his hands. 

“My prince,” he greeted, standing as the man entered the room. Jim, who seemed to be in the middle of chewing something, didn’t answer and simply made his way toward the table that they had claimed as their own over the past few weeks. As he settled into his chair and motioned for Spock to do the same, Spock to the chance to study the man.

Jim seemed happy—his face was glowing in that way it always did whenever he smiled—but under that happiness, Spock could read exhaustion. There were bags under Jim’s eyes that the man had obviously worked to conceal, and for the most part succeeded. But Spock knew what he was looking for. He could see the way the man’s shoulders drooped slightly as he leaned against the back of his chair, could see that the grin he gave when he finally swallowed whatever it was he had been eating was tighter than normal, could hear the heaviness in his words as he said,

“Good morning, Spock. Sleep well?”

“I did,” he replied, then hesitated. It was clear that the man across from him had not enjoyed decent rest in several days, likely since his attempted assassination. 

Part of him wanted to reach out and offer his aid, but he had no idea what he could do that would put the man’s mind and body at ease other than discover who it was who was plotting against him. Besides, it was not his place. Jim might be something of a friend to him, but could not allow himself to assume that their relationship included such liberties as this.

“There are several crumbs on your shirt,” he settled for at last, and it was so far from what he had wanted to say that he could have laughed. Instead, he settled for raising an eyebrow in a way he knew would cause the prince to chuckle.

“Ah, that would be from the  _ heavenly _ muffin I had this morning,” Jim laughed, brushing the crumbs into a handkerchief. 

Spock didn’t reply, but he felt a tug in his side as he watched Jim grin again, that grin that was tinged with something deeper, something darker. In that instant, a bolt of anger flared through him, startling him with the intensity of its heat. How dare someone take away even the smallest amount of Jim’s happiness? What gave them the right to dim the sun inside this man, to diminish the warmth that he exuded without even trying?

“You alright there, Spock?” came Jim’s voice, and suddenly Spock became aware of how tightly he was gripping the edges of the book he held.

“I am fine, Jim,” he responded, careful to keep the anger that simmered in his stomach from reaching his voice. Jim did not need him to be angry, he needed him to be calm and alert. And so he would be. “It is nothing.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t press the issue, which he was grateful for. As always, his controls around the man were abysmal and had he asked again, Spock might have divulged the source of his discomfort and that could only end badly for them both. “Well, the Research Council meeting starts in a little less than forty-five minutes, and I want to have a solid strategy before we go in there. Any thoughts?”

Spock nodded and picked up the PADD on the table next to him, and the next twenty minutes were spent planning their approach to Lord Ngara during and after the meeting when they would encounter him during lunch. Spock had uncovered a few policies that the man had supported several years ago that the king had rejected but were up for consideration once again, and Jim had decided to use that information to their advantage. Several of those policies had already been implemented on Vulcan, which likely meant that Ngara had contacts there. If they could get him to divulge who those contacts were, they would have a more substantial lead to follow through on.

“You know,” Jim said as he flipped pages on his PADD after Spock had finished explaining how one of the policies Ngara favored had been implemented on Vulcan, “I don’t disagree with him on most of this stuff. I know my father pushed it back, but there’s a lot that we could gain from the kind of inter-planetary cooperation that’s outlined here. My father worries that we could be opening ourselves up for attack, but all of these planets are members of the Federation. If we can’t trust our allies, what’s the point in having them?”

Spock nodded. “Similar logic is what caused the Vulcan High Council to accept several of these proposals. Thus far, they have benefited Vulcan as well as the other planets that participate in the exchange. It is arrogant to assume that any single culture or world holds all of the keys to scientific advancement; cooperation will bring faster results than isolation.”

Jim made a soft noise of agreement, although his brow had furrowed. He gazed at the PADD he held for several more moments before setting it aside with a huffing exhale and rubbing his temples. “These are good ideas, Spock, and I think I could convince my father to accept them, especially if Sam’s learned half of the stuff he claims he has while on Vulcan. But if Ngara really is behind my attempted assassination and we arrest him, public opinion will be against any of the proposals he supported. My father will never be able to bring these to the High King for consideration.” 

Spock nodded in understanding. From what he knew of Earth’s government, a proposal of this kind, while technically falling under the Kirk family’s domain of Interplanetary Relations, would have to receive the approval of the High King to be implemented, and it was doubtful that approval would be secured if the original proponent of the plan was proven to be an assassin. It would appear weak, and that was something the High King and his court could not afford. Earth was united and had been for some time, but it was relatively new to the galactic stage, and there were many both on and off the planet who doubted its strength. 

A humorless chuckle from Jim pulled Spock from his musings.“I would have caused everyone a lot less trouble if I had just keeled over the first time, huh?”

Red flashed in front of Spock’s eyes, and he felt himself grip the edges of his PADD hard enough for the metal to begin to cave under his fingers. He took a deep breath and slowly relaxed his fingers before looking up to meet Jim’s self-deprecating gaze. “Your statement is both illogical and blatantly incorrect,” he declared, barely managing to keep the loudest of his emotions from his voice. “Had you died, your parents would have destroyed their own kingdom to find the culprit, and I would have aided them in their efforts. Do not value your life so little, Jim; there are many others who place great worth on it.”  _ Others such as myself. _

Evidently, that was not the answer that Jim had been expecting. He blinked several times and then broke their gaze, looking down at the table as a faint blush spread across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Spock. I didn’t mean that.” He paused for a moment, and Spock could feel that there was more the prince wanted to say, but instead, the man shook his head and stood from his seat. “Come on, there’s no harm in being a few minutes early.”

. . .

“This Cooperative Information Trade Agreement is the  _ best _ way to ensure that Earth remains at the forefront of scientific discovery and innovation! If King George refuses to bring it to the High King, he will personally be dooming the Earth to irrelevance in the scientific community!” Lord Ngara declared, his hands clutching the edge of the table as he spoke. “We must convince him to change his mind about the agreement.”

A heavy sigh across the table spoke of how many times this particular argument must have come up in the years since Jim’s father had first vetoed the idea. “Lord Ngara, you know that the council agrees with you on this matter, but after the reaction that the king had last time, we aren’t certain that it’s worth his ire to ask again.” That was Lady Ricci. “There are other equally important projects that we need his support in order to pursue, and bringing up the CIT Agreement again could push him to reject other ideas as well. We can’t run that risk.”

“We must! If we do not risk his ire, then we will be culpable for his failure. Earth is one of the founding members of the Federation, an entity built on trust and mutual agreements. If we hoard our knowledge, we may have an advantage for a few years, but eventually, we will be surpassed, and I do not desire to approach the CIT members with my tail between my legs.”

“I understand that, Rh’ysh, I do, but—”

“We are talking about the future for our children and grandchildren, Sarah, we cannot let them down! If we refuse to act—”

The sound of a gavel broke through the argument, and the air fell still. “Lady Ricci, Lord Ngara, your arguments have been heard by this council and you have each had time to outline them in previous meetings.” That was Laura, standing at the head of the table and despite being many years younger than the rest of the council looking perfectly at home in her role as mediator and leader. “The purpose of this meeting is not to debate the CIT Agreement but to vote on it. Before that vote is taken, is there anything else that another member of the council desires to say on the matter?”

Jim glanced over at Spock before standing from his seat, which was situated a little way behind the table where the council sat. “Lady Darvis, I know that I am not a member of the council, but I ask your permission to address the council for a few moments,” he requested. Something flashed across Laura’s face, but it was gone before Jim could accurately tell what it had been. She nodded.

“Prince James, you have the floor for the next five minutes, and then the vote will occur,” she stated, and if her tone was a little sharper than usual, Jim didn’t blame her.

“Thank you.” He stepped forward to the small podium set diagonal to the table, near where Ngara sat. “As you are all aware, my father vetoed this proposal and several like it four years ago when it was last brought to his attention. I am not my father, but I know him, and I believe that his mindset today is not the same as it was then. Relations between Vulcan and Earth are better than they have been in decades, and what little scientific knowledge has been shared so far has benefited both planets. My brother is on Vulcan now, immersed in the knowledge there and eager to come home and share it.” He swept his gaze over the table until it landed on Lady Ricci. “I believe that once my brother returns, King George will be willing to present this agreement to the High King with his full support. Earth cannot remain as an island in the galaxy any longer. We have allies, and we need to trust them. He knows that.”

He bowed slightly to Laura and then stepped away from the podium, his eyes on Ngara. The man looked...pleasantly surprised, eyes wide but a smile on his lips. Jim nodded to him and then returned to his seat, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding as he settled against the back. Spock raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t comment.

“All in favor of the proposal to bring the Cooperative Information Trade Agreement to King George for consideration, please rise.” Ngara, Greer, Laura, and Man stood. Laura nodded and they all took their seats once more. “All against the proposal.” Ricci stood, arms crossed in front of her, and Jim couldn’t help but admire the woman’s strength of character to stand alone. “In a motion of four to one in favor, the proposal passes. We will determine when to bring the agreement to the king at our next meeting, which is in two days. Please bring your ideas. Dismissed.”

The members of the council all stood from their seats and began to pack their things. Jim was about to make his way over to Ngara when Laura stepped in front of him. “Jim,” she said, one hand gripping the sleeve of his shirt. “Can I speak to you alone for a few moments?” Jim frowned in surprise but nodded, and Laura dragged him to the corner of the room, her hold on his sleeve tightening.

When they were out of earshot of the other people in the room, she rounded on him, eyes flaring in a way that Jim remembered from when they had been dating and would get into one of their more serious fights. “What was that, Jim? In fact, what was the last week? Are you suddenly interested in the scientific research going on in your kingdom? Because you’ve never seemed to care before. Or does your father think I’m not capable of doing my job? I may be young, but in the four months I’ve held this position on the council, good things have happened, more than ever happened under Richard Smith, and he had the spot for three years.” She took the chance to breathe, and Jim cut in before she could get started again.

“Laura, I swear I’m not here to see if you’re doing a good job or not. I already know you are. My father made you an advisor at nineteen, and you’ve taken every job since then and magnified it. This isn’t about you,” he promised, praying the woman would believe him. Laura was a sight to behold when she was angry, and her righteous anger was a force of nature.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that, Jim?” Her words were almost a sneer, and Jim felt anger begin to boil in his gut.

“Yes, I do, Laura, because it’s the truth. I’ve never doubted your abilities before, and I don’t plan on starting now. I’m not here for you, and you need to believe me.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t. Why else would you suddenly take an interest in the council?”

Suddenly, Jim wanted to tell Laura everything. For months when they were dating, they had shared everything with each other, and it had been wonderful to know that there was someone at his side who understood what he was going through. To have that again, even without the romantic relationship that had come with it the last time, would be like a breath of fresh air to a suffocating man. Because he was, he was suffocating under the weight of all of this. He opened his mouth to say as much when he caught a glimpse of Spock over Laura’s shoulder. There was concern in the Vulcan’s gaze, concern and something else, something that made butterflies flit in Jim’s stomach and made him feel safe. He snapped his mouth shut.

“That’s what I thought.” Laura shook her head derisively. “Well, you can tell your father that I know what I’m doing. If he would like, I can send him the minutes for all of our meetings, then you wouldn’t have to waste your valuable time here.” Before Jim could reply, Laura spun on her heel and strode out of the room, head held high.

Part of Jim wanted to go after her, but he forced himself to unclench his fists and turn back to Spock, shooting the Vulcan a smile he knew wouldn’t fool him. “Care to join me for lunch, Mr. Spock?” he asked, forcing cheer into his voice that he didn’t feel. They still had a job to do, and a fight with his ex-girlfriend wasn’t going to stop him from doing it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is worried about Laura and decides that a little breaking and entering will help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started drafting this fic, I had a total of three scenes planned. This chapter has one of them.

The chessboard was a minefield of traps and trickery, and as Jim studied it he couldn’t help but shake his head with an inward grin. Spock was an honest, straightforward man, but he was a ruthless chess player. For several moments, Jim turned the pawn he held in his hand before moving it forward, sending it to be sacrificed to the quick aggression of Spock’s queen. As Spock took his time to examine the board, he said,

“Your presentation to the Research Council this morning was unexpected.”

Jim sat back in his chair, gazing at Spock across the tri-dimensional chessboard. Although the Vulcan’s words had very little inflection, his eyes were shining, and Jim knew that Spock approved of his little speech. For some reason, that knowledge made his chest feel a little lighter. 

“Well, I could tell that Lord Greer and Lady Man weren’t sure who they sided with, and Lady Ricci made a compelling argument for shutting down the agreement,” Jim said, shrugging lightly. “They need my father’s support too much to do something that seems so risky. So I had to show them that it wasn’t a risk, not really. Hopefully, I’m right about that. I already sent my father a message explaining what happened at the meeting and my thoughts about the proposal and asked Sam to do the same, so…”

Spock moved one of his rooks, easily capturing a piece Jim had been plotting to use three turns from now. “I am certain that your father will see the logic of your words. If you desire, I could also request that my father’s office send their reports on the benefits that have come from the CIT Agreement.”

“Thanks, Spock, but I don’t want to bombard him with facts and data yet. I have to give him time to come around to the idea on his own, and once he does, he’ll ask for any information he needs,” Jim replied, hoping that the Vulcan understood how grateful he was for the man’s willingness to help. “Besides, we both have other things to focus on right now, namely the fact that we are once again back to square one on suspects. There’s no way Ngara was behind the assassination attempt,” he said as he moved his knight to guard his queen from the rook’s advance.

“I am inclined to agree with you.” Was that a hint of frustration Jim heard in the Vulcan’s voice? If so, he didn’t blame him. 

They had put in  _ hours _ of work to try and box Ngara into a corner, and when they had finally gotten him there when they ambushed him at lunch today, they found the man was clean. Clean enough that Jim felt guilty for ever suspecting him in the first place. His contacts on Vulcan had corroborated his story about his visits to Emerson Curatives and had provided logs that showed Ngara had simply been spending too much time working on the CIT Agreement and a half-dozen other projects to have the time to organize or carry out an attempt on his life.

“However, we are not, as you said ‘back to square one’. We now have one fewer suspect to devote our attention and time to.”

“Careful, Lord Spock, that almost sounded optimistic,” Jim jested, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and he knew it. 

Spock must have seen through his mask, for he placed the pawn he had been intending to move back on the chessboard and leaned forward, catching Jim’s eyes with his own and refusing to let them go. “We will find the person who is responsible for the attempt against you, Jim. It may be that no one on the Council is guilty and that Captain Arthurson will find the assassin during his own investigations, but they will be found.” Spock’s words carried so much sincerity, so much conviction, that Jim could do nothing but nod.

“I believe you, Spock,” he sighed. And he did. Despite the way his heart seemed to grow heavier in his chest with each day that passed, Jim believed that they would find whoever it was that wanted him dead. He just wasn’t sure the state he would be in when they finally did. “Do you have any suggestions as to who we should focus on next?”

To his surprise, Spock broke Jim’s gaze, turning his eyes to the table between them. “As my last suggestion proved to be of little value, I defer to your knowledge of the council members instead,” he stated, his voice a few notches softer than it had been, guilt written in the tension in his shoulders.

“Spock, Ngara looked like a good option. The evidence we could find pointed to him; it was logical that he be the first person we investigated,” Jim assured the man, wanting to reach out and comfort him somehow but knowing that any contact between them would likely have the opposite effect. “And I have no idea what to do next. I’ve known these people my whole life, and part of me still doesn’t want to believe, can’t believe, that any of them would try to kill me.” He paused. “But there is something that’s bothering me, although it doesn’t have anything to do with the assassination attempt.”

Spock looked back up and arched an eyebrow, the waning light of the sun behind him casting shadows that threw the angles of his face into sharp relief. Jim’s breath caught in his throat and for several seconds the only thought in his mind was, ‘ _ Gorgeous.’ _

“What is it, Jim?”

The gentle concern in Spock’s voice brought Jim down from his brief trip to outer space and he shook his head. “It’s Laura. I think she’s hiding something from me, something that’s got her worried about what my father thinks of her. When we argued after the meeting she accused me of taking an interest in the Research Council in order to spy on her for my father, to evaluate whether she was doing a good job or not.” He frowned, thinking back on the argument, on the anger that had lit Laura's eyes.

“After her parents died when she was three, my father took her in and gave her a home in the palace, provided her with the best education in the kingdom. When she was nineteen, he offered her a position as a junior advisor, and she’s been working her way through the ranks of the court ever since. Part of the reason she ended things between us was so that she could spend more time focusing on her job,” Jim explained, his eyes unfocusing as he remembered all the time he had spent with Laura, all the ways she had pushed herself to succeed when so many other people in her position would have just accepted whatever came. “Our families have been friends going back to the founding of the kingdom; I don’t know why she’s so insecure now.”

Spock was silent for several long moments, and Jim was about to apologize for bringing up concerns that had nothing to do with the investigation that they were supposed to be working on when the Vulcan spoke, his words slow and careful. “It is possible that Lady Darvis is standing in the way of the person plotting against you and may have received threats regarding her work, threats she believes originate with your father. Someone may be attempting to pressure her into resigning her position or some other action, and the resulting stress caused her to behave over-emotionally to your interjection at the meeting this morning.”

“Do you think she could be in danger?” Jim asked, feeling his heart clench at the thought. He and Laura may not be romantically attached anymore, but he still cared for her, and he knew she cared for him too. If she was in danger because of him…

“I do not believe so,” Spock replied, and some of the tension in Jim’s shoulders fled and he let out a long breath. “Although we do not know the full intentions of the person who is plotting against you, they have demonstrated a willingness to utilize lethal force when necessary. The fact that this person may be threatening Lady Darvis is a sign that she is not vital enough to their plans to warrant such a display of power. The odds are heavily in her favor.”

Odds in her favor weren’t a certainty, but hearing the explanation laid out in Spock’s cool, collected voice eased the panic that was beginning to build in Jim’s chest. If Spock said that Laura would be safe, he believed him. 

“As callous as such an observation might be,” Spock continued, cutting into Jim’s thoughts, “I feel I must point out that Lady Darvis’s situation could provide us a lead as to the identity and plans of the person behind your attempted assassination. If she truly has been contacted by this person, her correspondence may hold insights that could prove useful to us.”

The thought of using Laura’s situation to their advantage made Jim uneasy, but he couldn’t deny the logic of the suggestion. Unfortunately, Laura wasn’t the kind of person to share her struggles with someone else. If she hadn’t already reported the threats—or whatever it was that had her so riled—to Captain Arthurson or another member of the royal guard, Jim highly doubted she’d confide in him, no matter what their shared history was.

“I don’t think I could get her to share that kind of information with me without telling her why I need it,” Jim said, shaking his head. “And I can’t tell her anything without asking Gil and my father’s permission first, and who knows how long that would take.” He sighed heavily and slumped against the back of his chair, barely resisting the urge to rub at his temples in an effort to ease the headache he could feel building there. “This is exhausting.”

He expected Spock to say something about how necessary all of their efforts were, or maybe ask how much sleep he had gotten recently, but instead, the Vulcan simply nodded. “Perhaps it would be best if we left the investigation for the morning.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, the barest hints of a grin pulling at his lips, his headache forgotten. “Are you suggesting that we forget about everything for tonight and just play chess?”

“I am.”

The grin grew until it was a full-fledged smile. “Well then, Lord Spock, I hope you like to lose.” The Vulcan’s lips twitched and he moved his pawn, and their joint focus shrunk until it included only the chessboard and one another.

. . .

Spock studied the man across the chessboard from him. Jim was considering his next move, brow furrowed as he looked down at the pieces, silently mouthing phrases to himself that made no logical sense when strung together. He took his time evaluating the board, and yet when he moved, Spock could see very little logic in the maneuver. It seemed, for all the man’s careful pondering, to be a random move. 

He moved his own piece after a few moments of examination and waited once more for Jim to move. They hadn’t spoken in several minutes, but the silence between them was comfortable, a fact that amazed Spock every time it occurred. With Jim, there was no need to fill the still air with observations or small talk or anything other than the companionable not-sound of their individual thoughts. Currently, Spock was immensely glad that those thoughts were inaudible, as his own were firmly centered on the way Jim seemed to be a painting come to life, sitting as he was with his head resting on one hand as he frowned thoughtfully, the soft lighting of the room—the sun had set hours ago, although neither of them had much cared about the passage of time—highlighted the strength of his features. He was breathtaking. It was not a word that Spock had ever anticipated using to describe another living being, and yet he found that no other descriptor could fit the sight before him. Prince James T. Kirk was simply breathtaking.

The man raised an eyebrow, and Spock had to fight back the blood that threatened to color his cheeks as he realized he must have become lost in his examination of the prince. He quickly surveyed the board and moved his queen in a way that deftly removed the piece from the trap that he could now see Jim was carefully constructing. The man’s lips twisted in a grin at that, and the game continued.

Eventually, Jim managed to trap his king, maneuvering his knight and queen in a combination that Spock had not anticipated due to the sheer riskiness of the strategy, and he conceded the game with a flick of his finger, sending his king tumbling to the board. “You are an excellent strategist, my prince,” he declared as he stood, hands carefully behind his back to keep himself from reaching out to the man. “It is easy to see why your father places so much trust in your ability to lead.”

Jim chuckled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks in a way that made Spock’s heart pound a few beats faster in his side. “Well, chess is just a game, but I appreciate the compliment. I’ve always loved playing, and playing against you is a unique challenge. We’ll have to play via holo once you go back to Vulcan,” the man declared with a grin. 

Spock very carefully decided not to think about all of the conflicting emotions that proposal brought rushing to his mind. Instead, he nodded deeply to the prince. “Allow me to walk you to your quarters?”

“You don’t have to do that, Spock, really. The guards outside are protection enough.” The blush had deepened, and it was getting harder for Spock to keep his own reactions under control. 

“Please, my prince.” He didn’t want to admit the words out loud, but seeing Jim safely inside his own rooms would grant him peace of mind that he would not otherwise be able to achieve. If he wanted to have any hope of securing a restful meditation tonight, he needed to do this.

Thankfully, Jim did not press him. “Alright, Spock.”

. . .

Jim was intensely aware of how close Spock was standing to him. More accurately, he was intensely aware of how much space there still was between them. About ten inches, he thought, although when they turned the corner he thought that distance might be closer to nine now. It was ridiculous, this fascination he had with touching Spock. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t supposed to. Yes, that was it. He knew that gestures he would consider casual were taboo on Vulcan, and that’s what was making his hands itch from the need to grasp the man’s shoulder, his arm, and he wasn’t going to linger on that particular thought any longer.

He lingered on it until they were nearly at his door. 

They stopped, and Jim turned, ready to say goodnight to the man when he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped in that direction, and he caught sight of Laura disappearing down the hall to his right, the opposite direction of her quarters. It was at least an hour past midnight by now. What was she doing out?

“My prince?” There was concern in Spock’s voice, and Jim turned back to him, his mind whirling. 

“I just saw Laura heading in the opposite direction of her quarters,” he whispered, low enough so that the guards standing a half-dozen meters away couldn’t hear. “She is never out this late. Ever. If there’s something going on…”

Spock quirked a brow at him in the shadowed light of the hallway. “Do you desire to follow her?”

Jim bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He just wanted to figure out what was wrong with Laura, to help her. If she caught him following her, though, she would be furious, and any hope they had of getting her to confide in them would be out the window. But it wasn’t really Laura that they needed. It was her communications. And if Laura was going for a late-night walk, that meant her quarters were currently unoccupied… 

“No,” he said finally. “No, I’m going to do something stupid instead. I’m going to sneak into Laura’s room and see if I can’t find out what’s going on with her.”

The eyebrow climbed higher. “I believe that is illegal.”

Jim shifted his weight. “Not technically, not for me, at least. Since this is my family’s palace, and I’m the highest-ranking member of the family here, I have access to any room or device here that I want. It’s definitely a major breach in etiquette, though, especially since that rule is about a hundred years old and hasn’t been invoked for at least a couple decades.”

Spock gazed at him in the half-darkness for a few moments longer before nodding. “Very well. I will accompany you.” Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Spock continued before he had the chance. “As the highest-ranking member of the royal family and the target of a recent assassination attempt, you are required to have a guard with you at all times. As I doubt you will be bringing either of your assigned guards, I will fulfill that role.” The Vulcan’s tone left no room for argument.

“Fine.” Jim turned to his guards, who were very carefully not looking at him and Spock. Stars, he did not want to know what rumors he was about to cause. “You two, stay here.” He held up a hand to forestall their arguments. “That is an order. If Captain Arthurson has a problem with that, he can take it up with me in the morning. I won’t be gone for more than half an hour. Understood?”

The guards exchanged wary glances but eventually nodded their assent. “Good. Come on, Spock, we don’t have much time.”

. . .

Spock watched as Jim tapped the override code into the lock on Lady Darvis’s door and then pushed it open, gesturing for Spock to follow him inside, and he did so, forcing down the feeling of uneasiness that came over him as he crossed the threshold. Their presence here was a grave violation of Lady Darvis’s right to privacy, a right that all Vulcans held in high regard. But then his eyes fell on Jim, and as the man moved through the darkness of the room, he knew that he would do anything if it meant finding some clue as to who desired to see him dead. 

“Her desk is over here, and if she’s anywhere near as organized as she was when we were dating, her PADDs are in the top drawer,” Jim whispered as he crossed the room. “I’m going to see if the communication history on her personal terminal can shed light on what’s going on. Could you check the PADDs and find her personal one?”

Spock nodded, but Jim had already turned away from him and toward the terminal that sat on the woman’s desk. The prince’s movements were hurried, and even from this far away he could feel the waves of concern that radiated from the man. Whatever had happened between him and Lady Darvis, it was clear that Jim still cared deeply for her and would do whatever he could to ensure that the woman remained safe.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Spock joined Jim at the desk, opening the drawer the man had previously indicated and beginning to turn on the PADDs there. The first several he pulled from the drawer were related to the woman’s work on the Research Council and contained reports of scientific studies and meeting schedules, which he quickly scanned before putting aside. Beside him, Jim had powered up the terminal and was now skimming through Lady Darvis’s most recent communications.

The unease he felt grew with every PADD he looked through, but he shoved it down. He was turning on one of the last PADDs in the stack when he heard a sharp inhale of breath from the man beside him.

“Spock, this message is from an encrypted number, and I think it’s in code,” he said softly. “I’m going to send a copy of the message to myself and erase the evidence, but I think I might have found the reason Laura’s acting so paranoid.” The man’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “There, done.”

Spock was about to reply when he heard footsteps coming toward the door. “There is someone approaching,” he hissed as he began to quickly replace the PADDs he had removed from the desk. “We must hide.”

Jim muttered a curse under his breath and quickly powered off the terminal, grabbing Spock by the wrist and dragging him toward a door on the other side of the room. Spock still held the PADD he had grabbed before Jim had made his discovery, but there was nothing he could do about that now, and so he allowed himself to be led to what soon revealed itself to be a closet. Jim flung open the door and pushed him inside, and soon they were shut in darkness together among dozens of hanging clothes and stacks of other articles of clothing.

The closet was small, and there was little room for personal space. As such, Spock could feel Jim’s back pressed against his side, and one of the man’s hands brushed his own, sending sparks of concern, fear, and triumph that did not belong to him shooting through his skin.

After a few moments, Spock heard the door to the room open and the sound of heels clicking across the wooden floors. The person stopped for a few moments in front of the desk where he and Jim had been rummaging not a minute previously, and he waited for an exclamation of anger or confusion, anything that would indicate that their presence had been discovered. There was nothing.

Several more moments passed as he and Jim stood perfectly still, the PADD still clutched in his hand. Finally, he heard footsteps again as the figure returned the way they had come. The door opened, more footsteps, and closed, and they were alone in the room once more.

Next to him, Jim let out a low sigh and slumped slightly against Spock. The Vulcan didn’t move. “Stars, that was close,” the man breathed into the close air. “Let’s put that PADD back and get out of here before Laura decides to come back.” The man then opened the door, and Spock could breathe again. 

He stepped over to the desk and was about to replace the PADD when his fingers brushed the power button. Out of instinct, he glanced down at the now-glowing screen, and his eyes widened. “Jim…” he whispered, his eyes scanning the page in front of him again and again in disbelief.

“What is it, Spock?”

Unable to form the words to reply, Spock handed Jim the PADD and watched as his face flashed between confusion, disbelief, anger, and revulsion. “This—this can’t be possible. Laura wouldn’t—she has no reason—this has to be a coincidence.”

Spock carefully pried the PADD from the man’s hand and replaced it within the desk—they could not take it with them, but he had already memorized the damning words written there—before gently grasping the man’s forearm and leading him toward the door. They had to leave now if they didn’t want to be caught.

Jim was silent all the way to his quarters, his steps stiff. Spock gently guided the man to his bed, but before he could attempt to get the man to lie down, Jim collapsed into his arms like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. Spock cradled him against his chest and sat them both on the bed, running his hands through the man’s hair as he shivered in his arms.

“How could she do this, Spock?” he whispered brokenly. “I loved her once, you know. I loved her, and she tried to kill me. She had the recipe for the poison saved to her PADD. That can’t be a coincidence.”

There was nothing Spock could say that would help. He knew that. And so he said nothing, simply holding the man close and allowing Jim to cry into the rumpled material of his shirt until his body couldn’t take it anymore, and the prince fell asleep. Looking down at the man’s sleeping form, Spock felt rage begin to simmer in his blood for the woman who had done this to him. 

“Laura Darvis will pay for her actions,” he whispered, every word quaking with the power of the emotions that ran through him. “Nash-veh ugaya du, ashayam 1 .”

  
**1** **Nash-veh ugaya du, ashayam--I promise you, beloved.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the very beginning, I knew I wanted to shove Jim and Spock in a small space together while they were being sneaky.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is not a happy camper, Bones is about two seconds from snapping, and Spock is ready to use every means at his disposal to make sure Jim can never be hurt again.

Jim’s fist connected with the hard material of the punching bag in front of him and a hot pain seared his bare knuckles. He probably should have wrapped them or put on some gloves before launching into the beating he was currently giving the stiff bag, but he wasn’t about to stop and put them on now.

It had been two weeks since Spock had discovered that Laura was the one behind the assassination attempt. Two weeks. And they hadn’t been able to do anything about it. Sure, Jim had a few more guards around him at all times and Spock barely let him out of his sight for more than a few hours every day, but they hadn’t been able to do a  _ thing _ to Laura. Jim slammed his fist into the bag again as his and Spock’s conversation with Gil played in his mind for the thousandth time.

_ “Laura? She’s the one who’s behind the attempt on your life? You’re certain?” Gil’s voice was dazed, and the grizzled captain shook his head slowly, and for the first time since Jim had known him, the man looked as if he wasn’t certain what to do. Before he could say anything further, however, a tense voice cut in. _

_ “I saw the recipe for the gahv-kur tevakh poison on her PADD along with a detailed explanation of the proper distillation process,” Spock stated shortly, and Jim could hear frustration lacing his words. “Unless there is another explanation for its presence, she is guilty.” _

_ Gil looked at Spock for several long moments before letting out a low sigh. “I believe you, and if we had the PADD, it would be compelling evidence, enough to pursue a case against her. But we don’t, and we can’t get it without tipping her off, and we still don’t know if she’s working alone or if she’s part of a larger terror cell.” _

_ Jim gripped the edges of the table, his knuckles turning white. “What does that mean, Gil?” _

_ “It means there’s nothing that we can do to arrest her, my prince,” the man replied. His tone was apologetic, but Jim hardly cared. _

_ “She just gets to walk free?” he demanded incredulously. “She tried to kill me, Gil, and she would have succeeded if Spock and Bones had been a few minutes slower and then this would be a murder investigation!” _

_ “I know, James, I do, but legally all we can do is put her under covert surveillance and up your security. Anything else would be overstepping our authority, and there are plenty of people who would be willing to seize that opportunity to attack your father’s legitimacy. That could throw us into riots, and possibly light the spark for a civil war.” _

_ Jim could feel the anger radiating off of Spock despite the Vulcan’s perfect posture, or maybe because of it. There was tension in every line of his body, and Jim knew suddenly with perfect clarity that the few readings he had found about Vulcans being capable of immense emotion and even greater control were undeniably true.  _

_ “Fine,” Jim said, working to exercise even the smallest amount of his own control. “Your people shadow Laura until they find something we can use and then we arrest her. What do Spock and I do until then?” _

_ “The same thing you’ve been doing. If you stop attending the meetings without giving a reason, it’ll look suspicious and Laura might realize we’re onto her. We can’t let her suspect that we know the truth.” _

His knuckles were bleeding now. He barely noticed. He had been sitting in meetings, mere meters from the woman who wanted him dead, and he had been powerless to do anything. Every night for two weeks he had dropped into his bed bone-tired and with a headache pounding in his skull, and every night he woke a few hours after falling asleep, soaked in a cold sweat and shivering with fear from dreams he could never quite remember. Spock was beginning to worry about him, he knew, and today would be no different, especially if Spock found out that he had hit the gym at three in the morning after leaving the Vulcan at midnight. 

What little time he hadn’t spent in the gym, in meetings, or with Spock he had spent trying to decode the message that Laura had received. So far, he hadn’t had any luck breaking the encryption, and the more he stared at the screen the more the symbols seemed to blur together in his mind. He had sent the message to Spock as well, but the Vulcan hadn’t mentioned it during the time they had spent together. In fact, Spock hadn’t mentioned Laura or the investigation at all.

When they had finished attending all of their meetings for the day, they always wound up together in the garden or Jim’s quarters or the library or Spock’s and they just...talked. Spock continued to teach him Vulcan, and now they could hold fragmented conversations in the language together. They had also played chess dozens of times. Jim had introduced Spock to some of his favorite authors and they spent hours talking about different books, and if things had been different, Jim would have loved every second of it. As it was, he found himself smiling and laughing every now and then, gazing at Spock when the Vulcan wasn’t looking, but anger and fear hung over his mind like a cloud, making it difficult for the light to shine through.

“My prince,” a voice said, breaking through the hazy fog that had settled over Jim’s mind. He steadied the swinging punching bag and took a moment to stabilize his breathing before turning to the guardswoman behind him.

“Yes?”

“You asked me to inform you if Lord Spock messaged you.”

Jim blinked. What was the Vulcan doing awake at 3 a.m. in the morning? “Thank you, Shyla,” he said finally, shaking off the last of the fog as he held out his hand for the communicator he had given the woman. 

On the small screen, a single message blinked. ‘I have decrypted the communication.’ The timestamp indicated that the message had been sent only seconds before, meaning Spock had likely been working on it since Jim had left him three hours earlier. That thought sent a mess of emotions welling to the surface of his mind, but he pushed them down and handed the communicator back to Shyla after typing out a quick message informing Spock that he’d be there in a few minutes.

“I’m going to change and then I am going to Lord Spock’s quarters,” Jim stated. The woman’s face remained carefully impassive, but he knew what she must be thinking. He had heard some of the rumors about why he was spending so much time with Spock, and while he was glad no one had guessed the truth of their meetings, he prayed the Vulcan didn’t find out. Spock would be mortified if he knew what Jim’s staff thought.

He shook his head and stripped off his shirt as he walked toward the changing room, grabbing a clean t-shirt from the pile that Gil always made sure was there for him just inside the door. He spent a few moments cleaning up the sweat that coated his skin in a thin layer and then roughly pulled the shirt over his head. A mirror hung across the room, but he carefully avoided looking at his reflection. He knew he looked like hell; he didn’t need proof. Then, he strode out of the changing room and out of the gym, his feet automatically carrying him to Spock’s room with little conscious effort of his own.

. . .

The terminal screen glowed a dim blue as Spock read the words written there for the seventh time in four minutes. After Jim had left him, he had been unable to sleep or meditate, something that had begun two weeks ago and only worsened since. Without being able to see that Jim was safe he found he had a difficult time convincing his mind of the fact long enough for him to get any significant amount of rest, and so he had decided to devote his time to more meaningful pursuits.

At first, he had believed that he had decoded the message incorrectly. He had tried a number of ciphers and languages to make sense of the words, but it was only when he put them through a cipher of Vulcan origin that they made any kind of coherent sense. The contents of the message had caused him to doubt his success, but he had triple-checked it. This was the only logical solution, and what it revealed was nothing short of horrifying.

His eyes were halfway through the message once again when the door to his rooms slid open without so much as a knock. Looking up, he was met with the sight of Jim in dark sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, hair tousled and face flushed.

“What did you find?” the prince asked, a sharp light in his eyes that bordered on dangerous.

In response, Spock turned his terminal toward him and allowed the man to read for himself what the encoded message had contained. As Jim read, his face twisted in anger, and Spock could see him struggling to keep it in check.

“Spock, these are plans to build  _ bombs _ ,” he whispered, and every syllable trembled with rage Spock knew was only barely suppressed. “Small, self-contained, powerful bombs. And some of this looks Vulcan by design.”

“They are. I was unable to decode the point of origin of this message, but I now believe that Lady Darvis has at least one co-conspirator on Vulcan,” Spock replied, his voice low to match Jim’s. He wanted to reach out and comfort the man, but he knew that any contact between them would likely overwhelm his fragile mental shields and settled for stepping around the desk until he was side by side with the man. “The design appears to be an improved version of a type of bomb that has not been used on Vulcan for centuries.”

“Is there any indication of whether she’s built it yet or where she plans to use it?” Jim was shaking slightly now, trembling, and Spock could not tell if it was from rage or exhaustion. Likely both. That knowledge made a fire of his own spark in Spock’s gut and he had to work to keep his anger at bay.

“There is not, but I have sent the decoded message to Captain Arthurson, and he will take steps to ensure that your quarters are safe,” Spock said. Then he strengthened his shields as best he could and laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder, carefully avoiding brushing the man’s exposed skin. “For now, I ask that you treat my quarters as your own. There are no meetings on our schedule for today, and Doctor McCoy does not return until 1300. You require rest.”

Jim turned his head and blinked dazedly at him. He was still trembling slightly, but much of the shaking had eased as he leaned into Spock’s hand. “Are you—are you asking me to stay the night?”

Spock nodded once. He knew that such a proposal likely overstepped the bounds of their friendship to the point of intrusion, but he found that he could not be satisfied with allowing Jim to walk out his door into potential danger without at least offering to shelter him. “I will be meditating, so you may use my bed.”

For a few moments, Spock was certain that Jim would refuse. The man took a step backward—Spock allowed his hand to fall reluctantly—but instead of rejecting the offer, Jim simply nodded. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Okay then. Do you have any bandages or a dermal regenerator?” he asked, holding up his hands, the knuckles of which Spock suddenly realized were bruised and bloody. “I don’t want to get blood on your sheets.”

Spock’s stomach clenched at the sight of the torn skin, of red blood smearing pale flesh. “I do.” He turned and strode to his ‘fresher, opening the cabinet there and pulling out a hand-held dermal regenerator that he had not had cause to use yet. He quickly reprogramed it to human specifications and returned to Jim’s side, handing the man the device and watching as he carefully healed his scraped hands.

“I didn’t wrap my hands before I started pummeling a punching bag,” Jim said in answer to his silent question as he returned the dermal regenerator. Spock only nodded in reply and set the regenerator on the desk. For a few moments, they stood together in silence, eyes locked and something hanging in the air between them that they were both far too exhausted to recognize or understand. 

“If you need me, I will be in my meditation alcove,” Spock said finally, gesturing to the small curtained corner of the room. “Good night, Jim.”

The corners of Jim’s mouth twitched up in the barest shadow of a grin. “Good night, Spock, and thank you.”

Spock merely inclined his head and stepped toward his alcove, exhaustion beginning to flood his senses. Behind him, he heard Jim order the lights to ten percent and slip into the bed. The man continued moving for several moments, presumably in an effort to find a comfortable position on an unfamiliar mattress, before falling silent. Satisfied that Jim was safe, Spock allowed himself to sink properly into his meditation for the first time in days.

The meditation did not last long. After approximately twenty-seven minutes and nine seconds, Spock was suddenly pulled from the second level of meditation by a soft whimpering sound. In an instant, he was alert as he stood and crossed the room in a few short strides to where Jim lay. The room was otherwise empty, and he knew the sound must have come from the sleeping man.

Sure enough, as Spock approached he saw Jim’s twitch underneath the tangled covers as if he were trying to flinch away from an invisible assault, his breath coming in choked gasps. The man was dreaming once again. As he had done the last time he had attempted to soothe Jim’s nightmares he gently grabbed the man’s wrist and, placing two of his fingers over his pulse, concentrated on sending feelings of comfort, safety, and peace.

Time seemed to slip away from him as he held Jim’s hand in his own, but eventually the man’s shaking eased and his breathing returned to normal. Slowly, Jim’s eyes opened and met his in the darkness. 

“Another nightmare?” the man asked, his voice hoarse. Spock could only nod. “Sorry for disturbing your meditation.”

“Do not be,” he replied firmly as he set Jim’s hand back down on the bed and began to stand. Before he could step away, however, the hand he had released flashed out and grabbed him by the wrist. He turned back to Jim, a question in his eyes. 

In the darkness, Spock could not fully make out Jim’s face, but he could hear the vulnerability in the man’s words as he whispered, “Stay with me? I know Vulcans aren’t big on physical contact, but having someone close by...helps.” In an instant, Spock understood both how difficult those words were for the man to say and the fact that he was completely powerless to do anything but obey them.

Wordlessly, he lowered himself to the bed and climbed under the covers as Jim moved over to make room for him. For a few moments, he lay perfectly still, mustering what little mental strength he had left to bolster his shields, then he shifted so that he was less than four inches from Jim, laying on his back.

Once he had settled, Jim moved, gently laying his head on Spock’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” he asked in a voice heavy with exhaustion but laced with concern.

To Spock’s surprise, he found that it was. He opened his mouth to explain that the emotional transference he had prepared himself for was far more limited than he had anticipated but closed it again when he realized that Jim had already fallen asleep, his deep, even breaths puffing against Spock’s throat. In the darkness, Spock allowed himself a small smile as a feeling of contentment settled in his stomach. Then, he closed his eyes and let the currents of slumber pull him into their depths.

. . .

When Jim woke, the room was bright with sunlight, and he was alone in Spock’s bed. For a moment, he simply stared up at the ceiling, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had fallen asleep with Spock the night before. Stars, he hoped the Vulcan didn’t hate him now. He rolled over and was surprised to find that the bed was still warm where Spock had been laying. He sat up slowly, eyes scanning the room for the Vulcan.

After a few moments, a door in the far corner of the room opened and Spock stepped through, hair slightly damp and dressed in long emerald robes. Jim let his gaze linger longer than he had any right to before dragging his eyes up to Spock’s face. The Vulcan was watching him with a mixture of concern and amusement in his dark eyes.

“Did you sleep well, Jim?” he asked as he crossed the room to the couch and table where Jim noticed a large tray sat filled with various muffins, bread, and a Vulcan dish he couldn’t identify. 

“Yes, thank you,” Jim replied as he stood, pushing back the blush that threatened to paint his cheeks. “I’m sorry if any of my emotions bled through to you last night.” He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Spock knowing that if he sat any closer he would lean into the man, especially now that he knew how comforting it was.

Spock shook his head and picked up the Vulcan dish—it looked like oatmeal, but instead of being tan it was a violet color and was sprinkled with small green berries—before responding. “There was very little transference. I attempted to inform you of this last night, but you were asleep by the time I realized it.”

A grin pulled at Jim’s lips as he reached for what he thought was an apple and cinnamon muffin. “I’m glad.” He paused, muffin halfway to his lips before he put it back on the platter and turned to Spock, emotions tumbling in his chest. “I really appreciate your help,” he said, praying Spock could hear the sincerity in his words. “With last night, with the investigation, with everything.”

A flicker of something passed over Spock’s face before he regained control of his features once again. “You are most welcome, Jim. Now, eat. It is 1157, and there are a few reports that your guards have brought that require your attention before we meet with Doctor McCoy.”

Jim grinned and dug into his muffin with gusto, eating a second and a third before his stomach was satisfied. “I can’t believe you let me sleep until noon,” he laughed as he wiped off the crumbs from his t-shirt. Spock, who was still eating that oatmeal stuff, raised an eyebrow at him.

“I had very little say in the matter,” he replied, “as I awoke only thirty-eight minutes before you. I had anticipated that the arrival of the food would wake you, but I was incorrect.” The words were archly delivered and Jim couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. It seemed things would be okay between them after all.

“Alright then, where are these reports I’m supposed to look at? Bones’ll kill me if I bring up court stuff while we’re catching up, so I’d better get it all done now.” In response, Spock finished the last bite of his meal and then stood, leading Jim to his desk where several PADDs were stacked. Jim picked up the first one, and soon enough he was working as Spock moved around the room getting ready for the day and composing his own report home.

. . .

It ended up being nearly 1700 before Jim and Spock were able to see Bones. Apparently the shuttle the doctor had been traveling on had broken down an hour before they had reached the city and it had taken three more to get it up and running again. 

Now, however, the three of them were seated in Bones’ living area, and Spock was quietly explaining the progress they had made in the investigation. By the time he finished, Bones’ face was a shade of red Jim had never seen before.

“That absolute—” A string of curse words followed in an impressive number of languages, including an unflattering phrase in Vulcan that caused both Spock and Jim to raise their eyebrows at the doctor. Jim sat back against the couch and waited for his friend to get it all out of his system, a familiar warmth settling in his stomach as he took in Bones’ righteous anger.

“Why isn’t she in some dark dungeon somewhere rotting?” He demanded when he finally caught his breath. 

Jim sighed. “Well, we don’t have a dungeon in the palace, and we never have. We have holding cells. Also, the evidence that Spock and I found isn’t enough to arrest her. Even with the bomb blueprints.”

“Why not? She has  _ blueprints _ of  _ bombs _ , Jim.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sunk a little further into the couch, unconsciously shifting toward Spock as he did so. “The problem is, the basics of those blueprints are available to anyone who searches for them on Vulcan, and there aren’t any laws against them here. Without proof that she’s actually building one, we’ve got nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence, and with Laura in as high a position in the court as she is we have to be 100 percent certain before we make a move against her.”

Bones muttered a few more curses under his breath and then stood from his recliner. “I need a drink,” he declared, daring either of them to protest. It wasn’t even 1800 yet, but Jim found that he really couldn’t care less what time it was. He held up a finger and Bones nodded, disappearing into his small kitchen area before returning with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other. 

“Anything I can get ya, Lord Spock?” he asked as he set the glasses down on the table between them. From the corner of his eyes, Jim saw Spock shake his head. “Suit yourself.” Bones poured a generous amount into both glasses and then lifted his, knocking it against Jim’s. “To the criminal justice system,” he said dryly before taking a long drink.

Jim sipped his whiskey for a moment, savoring the heat that slipped down his throat. Stars, it felt good to have Bones back. There was silence for a long moment, and Jim allowed his eyes to close. Sitting here, with Spock at his side—there was less than a foot of space between them now, although they had started on opposite ends of the couch—and Bones across from him he felt safe despite everything that had happened so far.

Bones eventually broke the silence when he leaned forward and set his now half-empty glass down on the table. “So, you planning to ask your dad to rethink his decision about Starfleet in light of recent events? Applications for next year close in a little over two months, I think.”

“Honestly, I kind of forgot about it with everything going on,” Jim replied, swirling the liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “I still want to go, though, and with Sam coming back maybe he’ll be willing to give me a chance. It’s not like he can say that staying home is safer anymore.”

“You are interested in joining Starfleet?” Spock sounded surprised, and when Jim turned to face him, one eyebrow was raised in question.

“You haven’t told him yet, Jim?” Bones turned to Spock. “This idiot thinks space is an exciting adventure, and he wants to drag me along with him. The king already told him he couldn’t attend the Academy once, but Jim doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“I’ve wanted to join ever since Tarsus—” He saw Bones’ eyes widen slightly as the doctor realized the conversation that must have occurred between him and Spock. “—and I’ve studied for the entrance exams and everything for years. I want to captain a ship someday and explore the edges of known space, do my part in expanding our knowledge of the universe,” he explained, and for some reason, he felt the urge to squirm under Spock’s careful gaze. 

After a long moment, the Vulcan nodded. “I believe you would make an excellent captain, Jim,” he said, and Jim was still reeling from the unexpected comment when he continued, “I, too, once sought to join Starfleet.”

Jim could practically feel his eyes bugging out of his skull. “Really? Are there any other Vulcans in Starfleet?”

“I would have been the first.”

Jim blinked at the thought of Spock standing on the bridge of a starship—he wanted to imagine that it was  _ his _ starship but one fantasy at a time—and couldn’t help but grin at how  _ right  _ it seemed. He would probably be a science officer of some kind, exploring the boundaries of the universe and coming up with world-shattering new theories every other Thursday.

“You said you ‘once sought to join’.” Bones’ voice broke Jim from his thoughts. “Why’d ya change your mind?”

Spock glanced down at his hands, and Jim knew in an instant that that was a somewhat painful topic. Before he could reassure Spock that he didn’t have to answer, however, the man said, “My father believed that I could be of most use at his side as a junior ambassador. I have attended the Vulcan Science Academy for two years and plan to finish my studies when I return, after which I will join my father in fulfilling his duties as a representative of the Vulcan people.” The response sounded automatic, like the kind of thing Jim might practice in the mirror before a press conference, and he could hear emotion lurking under the surface of the words, but he knew that now wasn’t the time to ask about it. 

Instead, he took another sip of his whiskey before carefully steering the conversation in a different direction by saying, “You know, Bones, I’m surprised Starfleet hasn’t tried to recruit you already, especially after that work you did with the Andorian Plague.” The doctor groused about that, and the three of them fell into easy conversation once more.

. . .

Spock was utilizing a lull in the conversation to observe the sunset when a loud beep broke the comfortable silence. “Sorry, that’s my communicator,” Jim apologized, fishing the device out of his pocket and opening it. Spock watched a number of emotions flit across the man’s face as he read the message he had received. Confusion, trepidation, anticipation, joy. “It’s from my mother. She says that she and Dad are half an hour out from the palace. They came back early to avoid the press and commotion,” he explained, a few of those emotions bleeding into his voice. “No one but me and Gil have been told.”

“You should probably go get changed then, Jim,” Bones said as he stood and took Jim’s glass—it had been empty for the past hour—and set it on the table. “I don’t think your mother wants ta meet ya in your sweatpants.”

Spock felt the tips of his ears heat slightly. Jim had proposed changing earlier, but Spock had been unwilling to let the man out of his sight for long and had suggested that he had earned a day of casual dress. Jim had readily agreed, although it now seemed that he was regretting that decision.

He stood from the couch, hands immediately clasping behind his back. “Allow me to accompany you to your quarters?” he asked, and relief washed through him when the man nodded.

“I’m sure my parents would like to see you too. It’ll take me a few minutes to get ready, though. You don’t mind waiting?”

“I do not.”

Jim nodded and turned to Leonard. “We’ll finish catching up later, Bones,” he declared, affection and contentment obvious in both his posture and tone. Although they had not discussed it, Spock knew that the prince had missed the doctor’s presence.

The doctor nodded. “Sure. I’m presenting my report tomorrow, but if I’m not in prison for strangling Laura Darvis with my bare hands we can grab lunch.” Leonard McCoy said the words lightly, but Spock could read anger in his gaze that rivaled his own. 

A soft chuckle came from Jim as the man clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It’s a date. See you then.” Spock nodded to the doctor, and he and Jim left the man’s rooms, quickly making their way through the halls to Jim’s quarters. 

“I’m glad Bones is back,” Jim said as they turned the corner to the hall that his rooms were on. “Although I am worried that if we don’t put Laura away soon he might do something drastic...and I might not try to stop him.” Spock didn’t mention that he would likely aid the doctor if the man made such an attempt.

He was still consumed by that thought when they reached Jim’s door, so much so that he didn’t notice the absence of Jim’s personal guard. He didn’t notice that the door was unlocked or that there was light coming from the crack under the door. He did, however, notice the small click that sounded when Jim pushed the door open, and something within him snapped. He shoved Jim back from the door, pushing him hard enough for the man to hit the wall on the other side of the hallway. 

“What the h—”

The rest of the man’s words were drowned out by a blast that ripped the door of the room off its hinges, slamming into Spock at the same instant that a blistering wave of heat rushed over him. He smelled copper on the air, and then his head cracked against the marble floor and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuu!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is on a warpath.

Jim slammed into the stone wall, reeling from the fact that  _ Spock  _ had pushed him, shoved him away. He quickly stabilized himself with one hand on the wall and glared at the Vulcan. “What the h—” he began, but before he could demand an answer for Spock’s actions, the entire wall behind the Vulcan blasted apart, metal and stone and wood cracking and splintering. 

Some shred of his survival instincts must have kicked in then, because an instant later he was on the ground curled into a ball as a wall of heat slammed into him. He could practically feel his skin baking under his clothes. A moment later, the heat was gone, and Jim rolled onto his hands and knees.

“‘pock?” he croaked. There was no answer. Fear-fueled adrenaline flooded him, clearing the haze that had settled over his mind as he crawled over to the splintered remains of his door where he could see the emerald green cloth of Spock’s robes through the rubble.

The fallen door was surrounded by pieces of his wall—there was now a smoking crater where his room had been, and Jim thanked the stars that they were on the ground floor of the palace—that cut his hands as he tossed them aside. A low groan sped his movements, and a minute later he had pushed the door out of the way and was cradling Spock’s head in his lap.

Green blood was seeping steadily from a wound in his head, and Jim could see places where chips of stone had embedded themselves in Spock’s skin with nearly the same amount of force as a bullet would have. He needed to get Spock to a doct—

“Jim?” Spock groaned.

“Yes, Spock, I’m right here,” he assured the Vulcan, trying his best not to let the panic roiling in his stomach into his voice. He laid a hand on Spock’s shoulder in a feeble effort to comfort him, but his stomach only plummeted further when it came away sticky with blood.

“Jim, you must—you must stop—” Spock began to cough, blood trickling from the sides of his mouth as he did so. 

“Shhh, don’t speak,” Jim ordered as he fumbled around his sweatpants for his communicator. The screen was cracked, but he flipped it open anyway. It sputtered for a moment before stabilizing, and his fingers flew across the screen as he typed out a single word and sent it to Bones. The doctor would know what it meant.

“Just hold on, Spock. Bones’ll be here soon, and you’ll be fine,” Jim said, choking back the sob that rose when he met Spock’s eyes. There was an acceptance in them, and he  _ refused _ to acknowledge what that meant.

“Go.” The Vulcan’s voice was weak, but it held the same certainty as it did when he declared checkmate or corrected Jim’s pronunciation. “Your parents...another bomb…go...” 

For a few seconds, Jim’s rattled brain didn’t process what the Vulcan was saying. When it finally did, his eyes widened and a chill ran through his body as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His parents were returning in secret tonight, and if Laura had the opportunity to take them out now when they had the least amount of protection… He had to get to her first.

Then he looked back down at Spock and his heart stopped. The Vulcan’s eyes had fluttered closed and although Jim could still see his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, he knew he was in a bad shape. He couldn’t just leave him here. He had to—

Two shaky fingers reached up and brushed away the tears that had leaked from his eyes, the contact sending sparks running through Jim’s skin until every nerve ending seemed to buzz with electricity. “Go, ashayam. There is nothing you can do for me now.” The words were little more than a whisper, almost as if Jim had heard them more with his mind than he had with his ears, but they were steady and sure. 

Jim’s hand found the one Spock still rested against his cheek and intertwined their fingers. His chest was tight with a million emotions and tears blurred his vision, but the feeling of Spock’s hand in his anchored him and he was able to take a deep breath. “Hold on until Bones gets here, okay? Promise me.”

Spock nodded slowly and disentangled his hand from Jim’s, pushing weakly at his chest. Jim obeyed the silent command and stood, holding Spock’s gaze for a few moments longer before forcing himself to turn and sprint down the hall toward the landing pad where his parents were supposed to touch down in a few minutes.

The halls seemed longer than they ever had in the past as each step carried him away from Spock but closer to where Laura is likely waiting, plotting to kill his parents and finally gain...what? Why would she do this to his family? All they had ever done was love and support her after her parents had died, and this was how she repaid them? With terror and death?

Finally, he reached the double doors that led to the landing pad. They were slightly ajar, cool air seeping into the hall. There should have been guards there, but Jim didn’t see any sign of them, although he also didn’t see any bodies, which meant that whatever Laura had planned, it didn’t seem like she wanted extra casualties on her conscience. Just him and his parents dead. 

Moving quietly, Jim nudged the doors open wider and peeked out at the landing pad beyond. A solitary figure stooped, illuminated by the lights that lined the perimeter of the pad, bent over some kind of device in the middle of the pad where his parents’ transport would be landing. He knew without a doubt that it was a bomb, the same kind that had turned his room to rubble and that it would kill his parents if it went off. 

As he watched, the figure stood and turned toward the doors and Jim and Laura locked eyes. Even from this far away, Jim could see her freeze, every muscle in her body tensing. One hand was curled around a device of some sort, likely a detonator. Slowly, he stepped through the doors, hands raised to show that he was unarmed.

“Put the detonator down, Laura,” he called, inching his way toward the platform. “You don’t want to do this.”

Laura laughed, the sound sharp and brittle—like cracked china. “No, Jim, I do. I really do. Your family stole the throne, and I’m taking it back!” 

Jim stopped moving. He was less than twenty feet from Laura now, and he could see the smile that warped her face into one he hardly even recognized. Was this really the woman he had dated, had loved not very long ago? “My family was given this position two hundred years ago by High King Trullest. We didn’t take anything,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage, his eyes jumping between Laura and the small black box behind her. “You know that.”

“No!” The low growl of distant thunder followed Laura’s exclamation, and the woman’s twisted grin turned to a snarl. “The kingship should have gone to my family! We played a bigger part in the First Contact than your mediators did!” she shouted, gesturing wildly with the hand that held the detonator. “Your family might have greeted the first Vulcan delegation, but it was mine that kept Earth from shooting them down or kidnapping them. Trullest betrayed our trust by giving you the throne. It should have been ours from the very beginning, and now it will be!”

“Killing me and my parents won’t change anything, Laura!” he insisted, his voice rising despite his attempts to control it. “The only thing you’re going to do is throw your life away!” How could she not see that this was insane? 

Laura took a half-step forward, the glint in her eyes making Jim wonder if there was any rationality left in the woman. “Did you forget your history lessons so quickly, Jim? If every member of the royal family dies, the throne passes to  _ my _ family line next. Your father always said that he would change the law to pass to the chief advisor instead, but he never did.”

Another muffled rumble of thunder rolled across the night as Jim’s mind suddenly flashed back to a warm afternoon years ago spent inside the library at Laura’s side as they read about the First Contact and the founding of the kingdom that followed. She was right.

“The High King will never give you the throne after you murder the ruling family,” he finally managed to say, trying desperately to appeal to whatever shred that was left of the intelligent woman he knew. “This doesn’t end with you on the throne; give me the detonator, and you might not spend the rest of your life in prison either.” As he spoke, an image of Spock lying in a pool of green flashed to the front of his mind, and he shoved it aside. He needed to focus, to talk Laura down, and anger wasn’t going to do that. It was  _ logical  _ to put his emotions aside for now; it was what Spock would have done.

He took a deep breath and was about to try a different approach when Laura cut him off with a barking laugh. “Why would the High King suspect me?” She asked, laughing again. “The bomb is Vulcan, the poison was Vulcan, the codes I used to lure your guards away is Vulcan. If anyone in your court is to blame,  _ Jim _ , it’s the Vulcan lordling that follows you around like some kind of puppy.” She spat the last word out with a vindictive smile. “Whose word would the High King believe? Mine? Or the word of an emotionless outsider?”

In an instant, all of Jim’s attempts to keep his emotions in check flew out the window. He stalked toward Laura as another crack of thunder split the air. “ _ Lord Spock _ ,” he growled lowly, “is lying on the floor of the corridor outside of my rooms, dying, because he pushed me out of the way of your bomb. He sacrificed his own safety to save my life without even a second of hesitation. He’s the one who found the antidote to the poison you tried to kill me with. He’s the one who decoded the blueprints for bombs we found on your terminal.” 

He stepped closer. 

He was less than five feet away now, close enough to see the horror that slowly crept onto Laura’s face as he continued, “If he survives, Laura, I swear to you that he will be the reason you never see the light of day again. You can kill me, you can kill my parents, you can kill Sam, but Lord Spock will see you brought to justice, and nothing you do can change that. It’s over.”

Jim could practically see the thoughts flying through Laura’s head as she processed what he had said, and although her feral grin remained in place, it had frozen, and there was fear in her eyes now. He inched closer. “You were so clouded by your obsession with the throne that you couldn’t see how laughable this all is. There’s something you should know about Vulcans, Laura, something our ancestors knew and you forgot.” He stepped even closer, keeping her eyes locked on his. “Once you earn their trust, they are fiercely loyal.” 

Then, before Laura could react, he lunged forward and seized her by the wrist, twisting her arm in a technique Gil had taught him years before. Laura cried out in pain and opened her hand reflexively, allowing the detonator to slide from her grasp and into Jim’s other hand below it. She let out a scream and wrenched her arm away, but by then Jim was set in a fighter’s stance, ready to take her. She threw herself at him, clawing at his arm in an attempt to grab the device, but he had the benefit of several years of combat training, and within seconds she was on her back with his knee at her throat. 

At some point during their scuffle, it had begun to lightly drizzle, and water dripped in Jim’s eyes as he quickly pried open the detonator and disabled it. Then he shifted his weight and grabbed Laura by the wrists, hauling her up with him. He didn’t have anything to bind her with, so he kept a near-bruising grip with one hand as he walked her toward the doors, pulling out his communicator as he went. He flipped it to the audio setting.

“Open communication with Captain Gil Arthurson,” he ordered as he shoved Laura inside the hall. The woman stumbled slightly, and Jim couldn’t deny the slight rush of pleasure that ran through him. He pushed it away as quickly as it had come, however. A feeling like that was too addictive for him to linger on, too tempting.

“I’m here, James,” Gil’s gruff voice crackled through the damaged communicator. “Your rooms are secure and Lord Spock’s in emergency surgery now, but we can’t find Lady Darvis.”

The woman let out a soft gasp as she realized the implications of the captain’s words. “I’ve got her, Gil,” Jim said, a wave of exhaustion hitting him as he spoke. He blinked several times to fight it off and focused on keeping a tight grip on Laura. “I’m taking her to the holding cells, but I need you to send a bomb squad to the landing pad and make sure that my parents don’t land there. They’re less than five minutes out now. Also, get in touch with the person in charge of Sam’s security on Vulcan. Make sure my brother’s safe.”

For a long moment there was nothing but static. Then, Jim heard a quiet sigh from the other end followed by, “Understood. I’ll send a squad to the platform and have another one meet you outside the holding cells. Then I want you to report to the private medical ward so McCoy can check you out.”

“I can wait,” Jim replied as he turned a corner and gestured to the two guards standing near the door to the gardens to follow him. “He needs to focus on Spock right now.” 

“It wasn’t a suggestion, James. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” The communicator clicked and the line went dead. Jim stifled a sigh and shook his head before handing Laura over to the two confused guards. 

“Lady Darvis is under-arrest for at least four counts of attempted murder,” he explained shortly. “We are going to escort her to the holding cells, where the two of you will stay until guards sent by Captain Arthurson arrive to relieve you, understood?”

The two guards nodded sharply and took their places on either side of Laura, pinning the woman’s arms to her side as they frog-marched her down the hall. Jim followed close behind, keeping his eyes firmly trained on Laura in case she had something else up her sleeve that he hadn’t thought of already. After everything she had done to his family and to Spock he wasn’t going to give her the chance to escape.

After what seemed simultaneously like an eternity and an instant, they arrived at the holding cells. The guards quickly searched Laura and then placed her inside and activated the force field that would keep her there. Even one of her bombs wouldn’t be strong enough to break into or out of this particular cell, and Jim felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen at that knowledge. The two guards stood on either side of the door as Jim approached it, staring at the face of a woman he had thought he knew.

He should leave, he knew. The rage boiling in his stomach wasn’t healthy, and he needed to get to the sick ward before Gil decided to track him down anyway, but it was as if his feet had melded with the stone beneath him. 

“Was any of it real?” He asked, the words coming out in a rush before he could even think of stopping them. “We grew up together, we played together, we learned together, we rode our first roller coaster together. You may not have been my first kiss or my first date, but you were the one who meant the most. So, was any of that real? Or were you always planning to kill me and my family?”

The pale fear that had overcome Laura since he disabled her detonator vanished in an instant, replaced by the feral insanity he had seen earlier, twisting her face into something barely recognizable. “That day we discovered the truth about what your family had done, I knew it was my destiny to take the throne. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, though, and I had to get close to the family to do it, closer than I already was. Your brother was so busy swooning over Aurelan he didn’t even notice my flirting, but you did.” She laughed sharply. “You fell over me so fast I thought you would get whiplash. Eight months I stayed with you, learning your patterns and weaknesses and gaining even more of your family’s favor. Then, your father promoted me, and I was finally in a place where I could act. I left you the next day before you got any ideas and decided to propose.”

Jim nodded slowly, the rage in his stomach cooling to steely calm. Laura had known how he felt and had used him, but to his surprise, he didn’t feel as betrayed as he thought. He still felt the sting of being turned on by a friend, by one he had trusted, but he knew that he didn’t love Laura, that he hadn’t for some time now.

“Maybe you’ll rule the inmates in whatever prison colony they ship you to,” he said, watching as the madness faded from Laura’s face, “but you’ll never have my family’s throne. I’ll see you at the trial, Laura.”

Then, Jim turned on his heel and strode away from the holding cells. Once again, exhaustion washed over him, and this time it took nearly a minute for his head to stop spinning. Once it did, he lengthened his stride and turned down the hall that would take him to the medical ward. He needed to see Bones. He needed to see Spock.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim recovers and Bones is just the greatest.

Jim looked up from the dim light of his PADD as a knock sounded on the door of his private room in the medical wing. “Come in,” he called, putting the PADD aside and sitting up a little straighter in his bed. The door opened and Captain Arthurson stepped through, the deep circles under his eyes suggesting that the man hadn’t slept since Jim had first commed him over twenty hours ago.

“Prince James,” the soldier greeted, bowing slightly. “I understand you’re recovering well.”

Jim gave a half-hearted grin. “Bones said it’s a miracle I was able to stand for as long as I did. Apparently having four pieces of shrapnel digging into your back isn’t conducive for chasing down would-be assassins.” He shrugged, ignoring the pain that flared in his back as he did so. “I think I managed alright. Although I’m surprised Boens let you in; he hasn’t even allowed my parents to visit yet.”

“Doctor McCoy sure is something,” Gil laughed, stepping forward and handing Jim a PADD. “He knows you, though, and he knows you’ll break out soon enough if you don’t have something to distract you.”

Typically, Jim would agree with Bones’ judgment, but this time… The thought of leaving the medical ward now, alone, made him feel physically ill—he doubted he’d even reach the door before his body revolted. He couldn’t leave, not when Spock was still laying in the room next door in his healing trance.

“Anyway, that PADD has the specs of the bomb that went off in your room as well as all of the information we took from Laura’s PADDs, console, and a few things she’s told us but we haven’t been able to verify yet,” Gil said. Jim nodded and set the PADD aside—he’d look at it later when there wasn’t anyone to see the rage he knew would rise. “I also have information about Sam.” Jim sat up straighter, eyes wide.

“Is he alright? Did they catch whoever was working with Laura on Vulcan?” he asked, fear jolting through his body like lightning, chasing away the last tendrils of sleep that had clung to him since he had woken an hour or so ago.

“Samuel’s fine. Apparently, the Vulcans in charge of protecting him noticed a bomb attached to the underside of the hovercar he was supposed to use for some upcoming trip and managed to track down the person who planted it,” he explained. “According to the Vulcan ambassador your father spoke with, they were able to discover that the person they caught was the only one involved using some kind of mind-trick.”

“A Vulcan mind-meld,” Jim supplied absently. “Vulcans are touch-telepaths, but they can also use a mind-meld to look deeper into a person’s mind. It’s a pretty big deal.”

Gil blinked at him. “Alright then. Well, this mind-meld or whatever it was seems accurate; they raided the man’s home and found plans for the bombs as well as a few of those plants that Laura used to make that poison, but there’s no sign of any other conspirators.”

Jim allowed some of the tension to flee his shoulders, relaxing slightly as he sighed. “Good. Is Sam coming home?”

“No. He and your father and Lord Sarek discussed things, but in the end, they decided to wait until the original date. Your father offered to transport a Vulcan doctor to Earth or send Lord Spock back to Vulcan—” Jim’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest. “—but apparently Lord Spock’s current state is normal for Vulcans after extensive damage. Doctor McCoy knows more.”

Jim leaned back against his pillows, blinking up at the ceiling. “Thank you for letting me know, Gil.” He paused, glancing down at the PADD the man had given him. “Is there anything on here that I need to look over right away?” he asked, gesturing to the device.

A frown crossed the captain’s face. “None of it’s time-sensitive,” he answered slowly. “But I thought you’d be interested to know what exactly Laura had planned.”

“I am,” Jim replied, trying to come up with the words to explain this strange feeling that had settled in his chest and refused to move when he had learned that no one knew when Spock’s trance would end. “It just seems wrong to go over all of this without Spock. If I can wait until he’s awake, that’s what I’ll do.”

Gil gazed at him for several long seconds before nodding. “Alright. Get some rest, James, your parents will come to see you in the morning.” Jim decided not to mention that he had only woken up an hour ago and simply nodded as Gil turned and left the room.

The silence that followed didn’t last long as a few minutes later the door slid open again—this time without a knock to accompany it—and Bones marched through, somehow looking even more exhausted than the captain had been. 

“How are you feeling, Jim?” he asked as he strode over to the machine to Jim’s left and took note of the readings there before flipping open a case of hyposprays.

“I’m fine, Bones,” he insisted, although he knew his friend wouldn’t believe him. Sure enough, a moment later he felt a prick at the back of his neck and heard the hissing sound of a hypospray deploying. He glared at the doctor, but Bones was already moving again to a different monitor.

“That’s for the pain you say you aren’t feeling,” he said, jotting down a note on his PADD before finally turning to face Jim fully. “Now, be honest, how are you feeling?”

Jim shrugged—the pinching pain he had felt from the movement earlier was absent this time—and said, “Physically, I’m fine. Really. My back stings a little when I move too quickly and I’m tired and I think if I try and walk to the door I’ll pass out, but that’s not too bad.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Sure. I swear, Jim, I don’t know how you aren’t dead yet. You are either the luckiest man I’ve ever met or the most unlucky. How many people survive multiple assassination attempts like that?”

The feeling in his chest tightened and he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have survived either of them. Without you and Spock, I’d have died the night of the ball, and without Spock, I would have died yesterday. He shoved me out of the way, Bones. He sacrificed his safety for mine.”

Bones set down the PADD he had been scribbling on and placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “He’s a tough hobgoblin; he’ll be alright. T’shil, the Vulcan healer I spoke to, says Spock’s always been a fast healer. I still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but that trance of his is working so far.”

Jim shook his head and sighed. How did he explain that that wasn’t good enough? That Spock never should have been in this position to begin with? “If not for me, he’d be fine right now,” he finally said. “He could have  _ died _ because he saved me.”

“I won’t claim to know everything that goes on in that man’s mind, but I would bet a pretty sum that Spock’d make the same choice again, knowing the outcome,” Bones said with a certainty that snapped Jim out of the haze of guilt that had begun to settle on his mind. “He’s worked himself to the bone these last few weeks to find Laura and stop her; there was no way he would let her succeed when he could do something about it. Not if it meant he could keep you safe.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Bones raised an eyebrow in a not-unrecognizable imitation of Spock. “Jim,” he said, “if you don’t know the answer to that already, you and Spock need to have a long chat once he snaps out of this Vulcan-voodoo.”

Jim opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘well, what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean’, but Bones cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Nope, no more questions,” he declared, grabbing his PADD once more. “Now, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep—”

“But I just woke up!”

“—and in the morning I’ll have your parents come by and bring you breakfast. And if you stay put and let me run a few more tests, I’ll let you go see Spock.” Jim’s mouth—which he had opened to protest once again—snapped shut and Bones muttered something under his breath. “Now, go to sleep, Jim.”

Before he could protest or say anything at all, Jim felt another prick against his neck, and by the time the hiss of the hypospray had finished, his eyelids were drooping heavily. Someone really ought to take away Bones’ hyposprays or at least—

. . .

The next time Jim woke, his chest was heaving and his skin was coated in a sheen of cold sweat. A nightmare. Green blood on grey stone. He took a few shaky breaths and worked to slow his heart rate, praying Bones hadn’t been woken from his much-needed rest by the sudden change in his readings. 

He was just getting his breathing under control again when a wave of anxiety washed over him, dragging his mind into the darkness that it had just emerged from. For a moment, it was just fear with no reason, then the voice in his head, the one that had emerged after Tarsus and had never really gone away since, started.

_ ‘Spock almost died,’ _ it sneered.  _ ‘He almost died and it was your fault.’  _

Some part of Jim was still awake, sitting up in his bed and breathing rapidly through his nose, but most of him was trapped inside his own mind, in a strange twilight place where the only thing that was real was this guilt that seemed determined to press him into the ground.

_ ‘If it weren’t for his healing trance, Spock would be dead. He traded his life for yours of all people. You don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve his loyalty or his friendship, and still you want more. How selfish can you be?’ _

It was getting harder to breathe now, and if he didn’t get it under control Bones would wake up and he’d see him a mess and he’d have to take the time to calm him down and it would all be Jim’s fault and—

_ “None of this is your fault, Jim. You cannot blame yourself for the actions of others.” _

Who was this new voice? It wasn’t mocking or demanding or bitter like the one he was used to having in his head, but it sounded familiar somehow…

_ “Breathe, ashayam.”  _

Jim obeyed the new voice without question, forcing himself to take deep breaths, counting in and out, preventing his anxiety from taking hold once more. The voice stayed silent as he got his breathing under control, but he could still feel a warm presence in his mind like someone had wrapped a mental blanket around him. Slowly, he felt his eyes slip closed once again, and he drifted off to sleep, his mind enveloped in warmth.

When he woke the next morning, he had no memory of the nightmare or the strange comforting presence that had followed it.

. . .

Healing trances were quite possibly the most useful of the gifts he had received from his father’s blood, Spock thought absently as he floated in his own mind. He had only utilized them a handful of times before and never to repair damage as extensive as his current state, but he knew he had an affinity for them.

That affinity had very little to do with any conscious effort on his part, however. 

Whenever he entered a healing trance, he surrendered all conscious control of his body, allowing his subconscious to guide his body to work far more efficiently than would have been possible otherwise. This left his conscious mind drifting in and out of awareness of his surroundings and even of himself.

There were several times when he heard voices, but he could not force his mind to focus on them long enough to catch more than snippets of conversation. What he did hear told him he had been in his trance for over a day—although time had little meaning to him currently—and that he was healing at a rate that one of the speakers found remarkable. 

Every now and again, he heard something else. Not a voice, not like the others, but almost the echo of one, as if he were hearing something from far away. If he focused on it long enough, the voice became louder, clearer, and some part of Spock knew to call it Jim. Whenever he had the strength to do so, he sought that echo out, chasing the brightness it gave off and seeking clumsily to project his own. His efforts were largely unsuccessful until the voice projected fear so loudly, Spock had no choice but to hear it.

Fear was wrong for this voice. Somehow, Spock knew that the voice—that Jim—shouldn’t be afraid, and he worked to convey that to him, projecting as much of his mental presence as he could. He was still disconnected from himself, and he wasn't entirely sure what he said or if he said anything at all, but eventually, the fear dissipated, something akin to contentment taking its place. Then, his grasp on his sense of self slipped away and left him floating once again.

. . .

“You know, I never thought I’d say this, Jim, but I might have to kick you out of my medical ward soon enough.”

Bones’ chuckle pulled Jim from his thoughts, and he turned his gaze from Spock and to his friend, blinking in confusion. “What?”

The doctor shook his head. “I said I might have to kick you out of the medical ward if you mope around here much longer. You might have passed all your check-ups, but you still need sunlight and exercise and sleep in a decent bed.” He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Jim that made him want to curl in on himself in a vain attempt to hide. “Have you even moved in the last twelve hours? Have you eaten?”

Jim didn’t answer, turning his gaze back to Spock. The Vulcan looked peaceful in his trance and Bones had said that he was out of danger now, but that didn’t stop the panic that raced through Jim’s veins every time he thought of leaving Spock’s side for longer than a few minutes. 

“It’s Friday, and he’s been in his trance since Monday. Shouldn’t he be waking up soon?”

Jim heard Bones sigh behind him and put down the glass he had been carrying—likely a protein shake of some kind for Jim—and walked up until he was standing beside the chair where Jim sat. “I don’t know, Jim. T’shil said it isn’t unusual for trances to last this long, but there wasn’t much else she could tell me. Apparently, no one’s ever done a study on these things because of their cultural significance, which doesn’t seem all that logical to me, but what do I know. Best guess says he should wake up any minute now, but I really don’t know.” A warm hand came to rest on Jim’s shoulder. “So you should go and change and shower and sleep in a real bed, Jim. I’ll let you know the minute Mister Sleeping Beauty here opens his eyes.”

“No.” Jim could hear the fragility in his own voice, but he prayed Bones wouldn’t notice as he repeated in a stronger tone, “No.”

“Why not? Do ya think your parents or Laura will cause a fuss, ‘cause I can put you on a strict no-visitors schedule until you give the word,” Bones offered. All Jim could do was shake his head. He didn’t mind talking to his parents—they had visited twice so far, and he had enjoyed talking to them after so long apart—and he doubted Laura could cause him any trouble from her cell. 

“Look, I know I said you and Spock need to talk as soon as he wakes up, but I didn’t mean the next second. I’ll comm you the instant he wakes up, even if its three in the frickin morning, just go and—”

Jim shrugged off his friend’s hand and tore his gaze away from Spock to face him. For a long moment, the words he wanted to say wouldn’t unstick themselves from his throat, but once they did, he couldn’t stop them from flooding out, his grip on the armrests of his chair tightening with every word.

“I can’t, Bones. I can’t leave him again. He was buried under the rubble of my room, bleeding out because he saved me and not himself, and what did I do? I left him, that’s what. I left him in a pool of his own blood to go chase down Laura knowing he could be dead by the time you got to him. I abandoned him, and I am  _ not _ going to do that again. You can kick me out if you want, Bones, but you and I both know I can override the locks and even if I couldn’t it wouldn’t take me more than three minutes to hack my way back in. I’m not leaving him.”

Bones’ mouth opened and closed a few times, his expression shifting between frustration and bewilderment. Finally, he shook his head and the crease between his eyebrows smoothed out. “Alright, Jim. I’ll leave you alone.” He turned and grabbed the glass he had set down, pressing into Jim’s hand. “Just...try to eat something, okay? And maybe shower? You can use the one in the decontamination room next door if you really don’t want to go far.” 

The corners of Jim’s lips turned up in a weak but genuine smile. “Thank you, Bones,” he said, hoping the man could hear the gratitude in his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Die, probably. And I had thought the hobgoblin would be a good influence on you…” His voice trailed away and he shook his head, but the smile on his lips ruined the effect. “I’ll see you in the morning, Jim.”

“See you.”

Bones gave him one more long look and then nodded to himself and turned away, exiting the room a moment later.

Jim turned his gaze back to the Vulcan on the biobed less than a foot away from him. He looked so peaceful in his trance as if nothing in the world could disturb him. His features were far more relaxed than they normally were when he was awake—when he was exercising every ounce of his control to keep his emotions from showing on his face. Even his hands seemed to have less tension in them now, the long fingers lying relaxed against the—

“Jim?” A deep voice, scratchy from lack of use but familiar all the same, startled Jim from his thoughts. His head whipped up toward the top of the bed, and his eyes met two brown ones staring back at him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations are come to. Melds are had. The sappiness ensues.

Spock’s mind flipped from the state of nothingness he had been floating in to awareness all at once, and it took him several moments to process the abrupt change. When he finally thought he was properly categorizing and comprehending all of the sensory input his brain was receiving, he opened his eyes. As he had anticipated, he was in the royal medical ward, laying on a biobed with several machines surrounding him. What he had not prepared for, however, was the sight of Jim, in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants sitting in a chair next to him, guilt and longing painfully obvious on his face.

“Jim?” His voice sounded rough and harsh from its lack of use, but it hardly mattered when Jim’s gaze met his own and the man’s face split into a smile that could rival Vulcan’s sun in its brilliance. 

“Spock! You’re awake!” Jim leaned forward eagerly, hands going to the edge of the biobed and resting there, scant centimeters from Spock’s own. “I was starting to wonder if you had decided that sleeping was more fascinating than being awake.”

The corners of Spock’s lips twitched upward without his permission, although he found it difficult to regret the expression seeing as Jim had been its source. He pushed himself into a sitting position—fingers drifting marginally closer to Jim’s—before replying, “A healing trance is not the same as sleeping. There is very little to warrant my fascination.” Although there had been one thing...something that Spock was beginning to suspect had significant implications, ones he wasn’t certain he was prepared to face at the moment.

“I’m glad. Bones was trying to kick me out a few minutes ago, and if you took much longer to wake up he might have.”

Spock’s eyebrows drew together as he looked more closely at Jim’s appearance. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his clothes hung more loosely from his frame than they ought to have, and behind the brilliance of his smile was something fragile and afraid. Instinctively, he reached out, placing his hand on Jim’s arm, savoring the way the man unconsciously leaned into his touch. 

“There is something troubling you,” he observed softly. 

For a moment, Spock thought that Jim wouldn’t answer. He could see that whatever it was that had disturbed the man was painfully close to his heart, but then the tension in Jim’s shoulders fled and he brought one of his hands up to cover the one Spock had placed on his arm. Tinglings of electricity raced through Spock’s skin at the contact, and a glance at Jim’s wide eyes told him the man had felt it as well.

“That happened the last time you touched me, too,” Jim whispered, staring down at the place where their hands met. “When you—when you brushed my tears away.” 

Moisture began to gather in the man’s eyes once again, and this time, Spock let them fall undisturbed, knowing that any movement on his part could shatter the spell that had fallen over them both.

“You could have died, Spock, and I left you there, and I am so sorry,” Jim whispered brokenly, tucking his chin to his chest as the tears fell faster, tracing rivers down his flushed cheeks. After a moment of hesitation, Spock sat up and shifted so that his other hand—the one not trapped under Jim’s—was cupping the man’s face, thumb brushing from the base of Jim’s ear to his chin in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Jim leaned into the touch, breathing shakily. “You almost died for me.”

In that moment, Spock knew with a certainty what the voice in his trance and the sparks under his fingers meant, what the connection he felt was. It was as if all his life he had been attempting to solve a difficult equation only to realize that he had forgotten to account for a universal constant. Once he did, everything slid perfectly into place, and peace settled over him.

“I did,” he acknowledged quietly, never stopping his careful caress. “And I would do it again, Jim, just as I know you would do the same for me.” Jim blinked at him, his watery eyes shining with fear and guilt but also hope and an emotion that Spock had seen numerous times and finally dared to call love. “I could not live in a universe without you in it.”

Jim choked back a sob before surging forward and throwing his hands around Spock’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder, tears quickly soaking through the thin material of the gown Spock wore. One of Spock’s hands buried itself in Jim’s hair, and the other began to rub soothing circles over the man’s back as he murmured words of calm and assurance in a mix of Standard and Vulcan.

“Shh, you are safe. Ish-veh tor shahtau 1 . I am here, ashayam.”

After several long moments, Jim’s sobbing subsided, and he looked back up at Spock once more. “What does that word mean?” he asked, his voice now as ragged as Spock’s had been when he had first woken. “Ashayam. It’s in reference to me, isn’t it?”

Spock released his hold on Jim shifted so that there was room on the biobed for Jim to sit next to him and gestured for the man to join him. He did so without hesitation, and soon they were pressed together, shoulder to hip to thigh. “It is,” he finally said as Jim laid his head on his shoulder. “It is a Vulcan term of endearment.” He heard Jim’s breath catch in his throat. “It means ‘beloved’.”

A silence fell then, and for the first time, Spock felt nervousness begin to creep into his mind. All of the outward signs that Jim had been displaying today—and for some time now that Spock looked back on it—suggested that their feelings were the same, but as the silence stretched on, Spock began to wonder if he had been mistaken, if perhaps they weren’t—

Jim shifted, lifting his head from Spock’s shoulder and pressing two fingers gently into the man’s chin, turning Spock’s head so that their eyes met once again. Inwardly, Spock braced himself for rejection, but when their gazes met the only thing he saw shining in Jim’s eyes was a deep affection that stole his breath away.

“I’ve had a crush on you practically since you got here,” Jim said with a laugh that was still breathless from his tears. “I never thought you would feel the same at all, but I guess this is what Bones meant when he said we needed to talk when you woke up.”

At the doctor’s name, Spock raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Doctor McCoy is quite perceptive,” he stated, but in truth, he knew that he had done a poor job of concealing his feelings toward the man across from him, even if he had not known the name to give them. 

Jim laughed again, and Spock illogically wished he could capture the sound in a bottle and keep it for his own, to hear again and again and again. “He sure is.” Jim leaned forward until their foreheads met, their breaths mingling in the minuscule space between their lips. “I’d really like to kiss you right now, Spock,” he whispered, and Spock’s heart leaped in his side.

“You may.”

He could almost feel Jim’s lips twitch into a smile before the man leaned forward and closed the last centimeters of space between them, placing a soft kiss on Spock’s waiting lips, which he carefully, eagerly returned. It was brief, but sparks still danced between them, and when Jim drew away Spock could feel a blush staining his cheeks and ears a deep green.

There was a faint pink dusting Jim’s cheeks as well, coupled with a blinding grin that made Spock’s heart feel as if it were doing cartwheels inside of him. “I’ve wanted to do that since that day in the library when you offered to get me some books to read about Vulcan. You looked gorgeous.” Jim’s fingers brushed over Spock’s jaw. “You always do.”

Spock’s lips twitched upward in a self-conscious smile. He had never been considered attractive by anyone around him before, as far as he was aware. His half-breed status turned away all of the Vulcans he interacted with, and the aloofness that came from his Vulcan upbringing discouraged members of other species from growing close to him as well. But this wasn’t a simple attraction for him, and some of his joy faded away as he realized the implications if Jim did not feel the same.

“What is it, Spock?” Jim asked, brows drawn together in a frown as his fingers stilled on Spock’s jaw. “Did I do something wrong?”

Unable to speak past the obstruction that had formed in his throat, Spock shook his head. For several moments, he tried to organize his scattered thoughts in a way that Jim would understand, but his efforts were in vain. How could he even begin to explain to Jim that he was the missing half of his soul? Finally, he gave up trying.

“Jim, may I meld with you?” he asked, his voice barely audible as he glanced down at the bed. “I do not request this lightly, and I promise not to look any deeper than is necessary, but—”

“Of course, Spock,” Jim interrupted gently, moving his hand from Spock’s jaw to his thigh, grounding him to reality once more. “What do I need to do?”

Spock blinked in surprise. He had not expected Jim to agree, much less to do so with so little hesitation or explanation. “You need do nothing, ashayam. Simply close your eyes.” Jim did so, and Spock took a deep breath before reaching out and placing his fingers on the man’s psi points and reciting the ritual words. Then, their minds were one.

In the past, Spock had always struggled to meld with others. He was a powerful telepath, but his hybrid mind made others uneasy, and as such, any connections he managed to form were unstable and rarely lasted longer than a few seconds. Indeed, the only mind he had ever melded with easily was his mother’s. Until Jim.

Jim’s mind was dynamic, almost overwhelmingly so. His emotions swept over Spock in a powerful wave the instant he melded their minds, but instead of pulling him under, they were like lifewater to him, giving him the strength and clarity he needed to create a mental landscape where he and Jim could meet.

The light around him—Jim’s mind was blindingly bright and warm and Spock wanted to bask in it for an eternity and longer—slowly began to stabilize into a few vague forms. A floor, a chair, a 3D chess set sitting on a table with the black queen a move away from capturing the white king. Then, the light shifted and dimmed to something more bearable, and Jim’s conscious form appeared a few feet away from Spock.

Physical forms were not necessary in a meld, but Spock had always found that they helped to stabilize the connection, giving both parties something more tangible to focus on. He would need such a point of focus if he were to manage all of the emotions that swirled in the air around them.

“This is beautiful, Spock,” Jim projected, his thoughts somewhat over-loud as he navigated the unfamiliar means of communication. He frowned for a moment, concentrating, before trying again, his words regulated to a more normal volume now. “I understand now why they say that Vulcans can’t lie. It’s impossible in a meld, isn’t it?”

Admiration and astonishment flowed through their link as Spock was reminded once again how incredibly perceptive and intelligent Jim was. “Thoughts and emotions can be buried, but if either participant in the meld seeks diligently, yes, it is impossible to conceal the truth.”

Jim grinned and stepped toward Spock. “Can you feel this?” he asked. Spock was about to question what he was supposed to be feeling when a wave of emotions hit him so intensely he stumbled backward. Love, that was what Jim had projected, love so deep Spock could drown in it, and he knew if he didn’t block at least some of Jim’s projections immediately he would never be able to clear his mind enough to convey what he needed to.

“I do, Jim,” he gasped, his mind reeling from the strength of it all, “but I ask that you allow me to show you what I need to before—”

A sheepish apology floated through the air. “Of course, Spock. I’ll try and keep quiet.”

The light and warmth around them dimmed somewhat, as if it was now shining through some obstruction. Spock mourned its absence instantly, but he knew it was necessary to his concentration. Stepping forward, he took Jim’s hands in his and gathered his thoughts and emotions. He had to be certain that the man understood all that they were—all that they had the potential to be if he desired it—before they went any further.

“On Vulcan,” he began, pushing shadows of memories of his home planet across their connection, “there is very little of what you would consider courting. Mates are chosen for one another when they are young based on the compatibility of their minds as well as a number of other factors. That way, when the two form a marital bond, that bond is strong. However, marital bonds are not the only ones that exist. There are others, some so ancient and powerful they transcend the rest in their strength.”

For a moment, Spock’s concentration wavered as he felt Jim’s emotions surge forward—love and a trust so complete it made Spock want to fall to his knees. He pushed them away carefully and looked back up at Jim’s face.

“One of these bonds is called the T’hy’la bond. It is rare, rare enough that it has not been seen on Vulcan in generations.” He ran his thumb over Jim’s skin to ground himself, taking a shuddering breath. “It is a bond that most often unites two warriors. It can take many forms and can come into being slowly or in a single instant, but however it does so it is always strong, stronger than most marital bonds can ever be.” He took another shaking breath, his eyes never leaving Jim’s. “It has been interpreted as friend, brother, and lover, although there is no word in Standard to truly define it. Perhaps the closest comparison would be...soulmates.”

Jim gasped quietly, and Spock felt another surge of emotion against his shields. Love, a seemingly boundless expanse of love. But also...hope? Anticipation?

“I believe that bond exists between us. It is not at its full strength now, nor does it have to be if you do not wish it, but—” He stopped abruptly, knowing words were futile now. Instead, he projected to Jim all of the love he felt, the devotion, the fierce protectiveness that surged through him. He projected the shadows of his memories, every time he had felt a spark of something between them, every time he had looked at Jim and seen his entire universe mirrored in those eyes. 

His emotions were matched in kind by Jim’s and suddenly Spock could see flashes of Jim’s own memories where he had felt the same. It was too much and not enough, and they sunk to their knees, foreheads pressed together as they shook from the strength of what they felt. 

“This is us? T’hy’la?” Jim whispered, the words echoing through the meld. “We could have all of that?”

“Yes.” Spock breathed the word like a vow and knew with the entirety of his being that it was true. They were t’hy’la, each a half of the other’s soul. He forced his emotions back under control, however, knowing there was still more Jim needed to understand.

“The t’hy’la bond does not guarantee happiness or contentment,” he warned, drawing back to look Jim in the eyes once again. “It is possible that you would not be satisfied by me. I am Vulcan; I am not capable of the displays of affection you are used to, and the differences between our cultures are vast enough to cause a myriad of misunderstandings between us.”

Jim nodded. “I understand that, Spock. Is there any harm in trying, though? We can learn and experiment together, and if it doesn’t work out…”

Spock pushed away the panic that bolted through him at the thought of no longer having Jim in his life. How had he become so dependent on the man’s presence in such a short amount of time? Why did it feel as if a life without him in it would be no life at all? But Jim’s happiness would always come first, and if the man was willing to attempt a romantic relationship, there was little more Spock could ask for.

“There is a possibility that the more time we spend in one another’s presence the stronger the bond will grow, even without the intention of it doing so on either of our parts,” he warned. “It would not be a full bond until I or another purposefully bonded our minds, but it could become strong enough to require the intervention of a Vulcan healer to sever should you desire to do so.”

“Okay. And is that dangerous, severing the bond?”

Jim was perceptive, and Spock could not lie. “If the bond were to strengthen significantly before being severed, it would cause us both great pain. However, the effects of the severing would not linger long for you, since your mind is not accustomed to having a telepathic bond with another.” 

Once again, Jim heard the words that Spock did not speak. “And what about your mind?”

A sad smile pulled at Spock’s lips. “My mind would cling to the bond with every shred of strength, likely causing irreparable damage once the bond is severed. It is possible that I would succumb to madness, become a thoughtless shell, or even die,” he answered honestly. He was not afraid of such an outcome, however, for it would mean that even if it had been for only a short time he had held Jim’s mind in his own.

“And you’re willing to try this anyway?” Jim whispered, awe and disbelief mingling in his voice. “I could kill you, and you’re willing to try?”

Spock allowed his love to seep back into the bond, along with his determination. “I am. I believe many of your Earth poets and writers have declared that to allow the possibility of love is to allow the possibility of pain. This is not so different.”

There was silence for a few moments. Spock could still feel Jim’s emotions swirling just beyond his reach, and he knew if he concentrated he would be able to discern them, but he did not. Instead, he took Jim’s hands in his own again and gently brushed his thumbs over the backs of Jim’s hands as he waited for the man to process all he had said.

Finally, Jim looked back up at him, a hesitant smile on his lips. “If you really want this, want me, Spock, I want to try.” He licked his lips, a nervous gesture that only made Spock fall deeper in love with the man. “I’m not going to lie—the thought of being bonded, mind and soul, to anyone for eternity scares me, but it doesn’t scare me as much as the thought of not having you in my life does.”

With those words, spoken with certainty and devotion Spock couldn’t even begin to deserve, the shields that he had erected crumbled down, and their thoughts and emotions mixed once more, a powerful combination of love and joy and fear and hope. Leaning forward, Spock captured Jim’s lips in another kiss, and the floor beneath them disappeared as they fell into one another.

. . .

When Jim opened his eyes again, they were back in the medical ward, perched on Spock’s bed. Spock’s hand had fallen from his face at some point, and barely a dozen centimeters separated them. Jim grinned shakily at the Vulcan, his mind still overloaded from everything he had seen and felt in the meld. 

“Stars, Spock,” he breathed out when his mind finally stopped running in circles. “Are melds always that...intense?”

Spock blushed green, and it took all of Jim’s self control not to surge forward and kiss him again. “No. The compatibility of our minds made the connection much deeper than I had intended, and coupled with the subject matter of our joined thoughts—”

Jim cut him off with a laugh and gave into the urge to place a feather-light kiss on Spock’s lips. “I loved it, Spock,” he declared with a smile as he drew back. “But I think it’s time for me to go take a shower like Bones was pestering me to. Besides, I have a feeling he’s going to storm in here in a minute and give you the most thorough check-up he can.”

Spock nodded. “You are correct, I am sure. However…” his words trailed away and he looked down as the blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears darkened.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Jim asked softly, tilting Spock’s chin up so that their eyes met once more. When they did, he could see something akin to shame in the Vulcan’s eyes, and it made his heart clench in his chest. “What do you need?”

Spock swallowed and was silent for several moments, but Jim didn’t mind. From the very little he knew about Vulcan culture, he knew that discussing emotions was something that they didn’t do, and Spock had already shared so much with him today. 

“When you have finished showering and whatever else Doctor McCoy has required of you, would you be willing to return?” he finally asked in a voice so quiet Jim might have missed it had he been a foot or two further away. “You need not do so if you would prefer to spend your time elsewhere or—”

“Of course, Spock. Bones couldn’t keep me out earlier, and he won’t be able to now either,” Jim declared with a soft grin. “I’ll be back in an hour or two, I promise.”

Spock didn’t reply except to nod, and Jim leaned forward to peck the Vulcan on the nose before standing. Then, Jim left the room, glancing behind him at Spock one last time before the door slid shut. Stars, Jim was a lucky man. A very very lucky man indeed. 

  
**1** **Ish-veh tor shahtau--It has ended.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ball! And more amazing Bones! And decisions are made!

For Jim, the next four weeks passed in a golden haze that was darkened only by the after-effects of Laura’s actions. Once Spock was released from the medical ward, Gil came by and briefed them in-person on everything they had figured out about Laura’s plot against him, including her plan for the bomb that nearly killed Spock. Apparently, she had placed the bomb on a table right next to his door and wired it so that it would explode as soon as he opened the door. Since Spock stopped him from opening it all the way, the worst of the explosion was contained within the room—otherwise, there would have been no way for him and Spock to survive the blast. He had gripped Spock’s hand tight under the table when Gil had told them that, green blood on stone flashing in front of his eyes once again.

Two weeks after Laura had tried to kill him and his parents, her trial had been held. It was brief; she had refused a lawyer to defend her, and the evidence against her was undeniable, especially when combined with his testimony of her confession. That had been difficult, testifying against a woman he had loved while knowing that his words were damning her to a prison colony for the rest of her life. Spock sat through the entire trial with him, and when the guilty verdict was finally declared, he brought Jim back to his room and held him while he cried.

Those two moments of shadow aside, Jim had never felt happier. Now that his father had returned, there were far fewer meetings he needed to attend, and he and Spock spent nearly every moment together. In a way, nothing between them changed at all—they still sat in the library in comfortable silence and studied Vulcan and fenced and spent evenings with Bones and played chess until the early hours of the morning—but at the same time, everything was different. Now that Spock had pointed out the bond to him, he could feel it humming in the back of his mind all the time. Spock had insisted on shielding it somewhat and teaching Jim to do the same, but he could still feel the barest hints of emotion coming from the Vulcan, and they made his heart do a happy flip in his chest every time. 

A few days after the trial, Jim and Spock had talked and decided to tell Bones, Jim’s parents, and Spock’s parents about their relationship. Jim had thought Spock would be shy about telling others, but it turned out that the Vulcan was more than eager to publicly proclaim their bond, which made Jim feel so completely  _ wanted  _ it had taken him a few moments to recover his breath. 

Spock explained the basics of the t’hy’la bond to Bones and Jim’s parents, and both Bones and his father had been uncertain about it at first until Jim spoke up and told them how  _ wonderful _ it felt to have Spock in his mind. After that, they had all given the relationship their blessings, which had lifted a weight from Jim’s shoulders he hadn’t realized he had been carrying. He loved Spock, and he would love him no matter what anyone else thought, but having the support of his best friend and his parents meant a lot.

Telling Spock’s parents had been equally...exciting. Lady Amanda, who Jim had never met before, was overjoyed to learn that her son had found his t’hy’la and gave her blessing immediately, almost before Jim could properly introduce himself. Once he had, she had smiled widely and welcomed him to the family over the protests of both her son and husband, who both reminded her that the bond wasn’t formalized yet. She had only grinned and winked at him in response, and he had felt equal parts overjoyed and terrified by the thought of one day completing the bond. 

Lord Sarek had taken a bit more persuasion, and under the cold, analytical exterior of his questions and observations Jim had sensed the man’s desire to protect Spock. He reminded them both that a t’hy’la bond was not a promise of instant happiness and the consequences they would face if they waited too long to sever it. But Spock had responded calmly and with a confidence that made Jim’s heart soar, and eventually, Lord Sarek had accepted his son’s logic and given his blessing as well. 

“Your mind is drifting, ashayam,” Spock observed. Jim blinked, refocusing on the chess game in front of him as Spock’s deep voice drew him from his thoughts.

“Sorry, Spock,” he said, running a hand through his hair sheepishly as he surveyed the various levels of the chess set in an attempt to figure out how Spock had moved while he had been zoned out. “I was thinking about the conversation we had with your parents when we told them about the bond.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “And what initiated such thoughts?”

Jim shrugged, moving one of his knights up a level to threaten Spock’s rook. “I don’t know. My mind was just kind of running through the last month and how right it’s felt to be by your side.”

“Indeed,” Spock’s voice was soft, his eyes focused on the chess set. Still, Jim could feel a hint of the emotions that ran through the Vulcan and he had a feeling that the man was thinking the same thing he was. Tomorrow, a farewell ball was being held, and two days later, Spock would be leaving.

“Vulcan is too far away,” Jim blurted out as Spock was about to move his rook out of reach of Jim’s knight. The Vulcan replaced the piece and looked back up at him, expression carefully controlled. “I don’t want to keep you on Earth or anything,” Jim quickly continued, feeling foolish but knowing Spock would understand even if he couldn’t put the tight feeling in his chest into words. “Vulcan is your home. It’s just that you have to finish your studies at the Vulcan Science Academy and I have to stay here, and I don’t know if I can—it’s just too far away.”

Spock regarded him for a moment, brown eyes warm and thoughtful. Then, he reached across the chess set and offered Jim his first two fingers. Jim carefully covered them with his own, sighing lightly as he did so. Spock had taught him that the gesture, an ozh’esta, was similar to a kiss in Vulcan culture. At first, Jim wasn’t sure he would be able to appreciate it, but now he could feel the stress in his shoulders relax as calm and security radiated from Spock where they touched.

Eventually, Spock drew away, giving Jim’s fingers one last caress before he did so. “With relations between our planets continuing to strengthen, I believe that it is likely that I will be offered a junior ambassadorial position on Earth after I complete my studies. However, you are correct—Vulcan is far from Earth, and my studies will take time.” He leaned forward slightly. “But neither time nor distance could dim what I feel for you, Jim. Believe that.”

Jim let out another sigh, capturing Spock’s fingers in another ozh’esta as he did so. “I do, Spock. I do,” he murmured, and it was true. Being apart would be hard, yes, but he knew that it would do nothing to weaken their bond. If anything, it would grow stronger. Still, the thought of not being able to sneak kisses in the hallway or flip the pages of a book while snuggled into Spock’s side made his heart ache. He looked up from their hands to catch Spock’s steady gaze. “I love you.”

“And I, you.”

They played until Jim began to nod off thirty minutes into their fourth game, and instead of walking him back to his temporary rooms—his other quarters were still being repaired—Spock simply scooped him up as if he were a Jim-shaped sack of feathers and carried him to his bed. Jim was asleep by the time Spock crawled in next to him, and when he woke up, his face was buried in the Vulcan’s chest, cradled by Spock’s arms. 

. . .

“Well, here we are again, Jimbo,” Bones said, leaning against the wall as Jim adjusted his coronet in the mirror and straightened his golden tunic. “Gotta say, I didn’t think having a Vulcan around would be as exciting as it was. Definitely didn’t think the two of you would hit it off as well as you did.”

Jim rolled his eyes at his friend in the mirror. “Exciting isn’t exactly how I’d categorize an assassination attempt and running around trying to figure out who wanted me dead,” he said dryly. “But you’ve got a point. Things are going to be strange without Spock around.”

Bones nodded slowly. “How are you two going to handle that?” he asked as Jim turned around and began to sort through his shoes, looking for the ones he had worn at the Spring Ball. 

“We’ve managed to work out a rough schedule for when we can holo each other—the time zones don’t line up very well, but Vulcans don’t need as much sleep as humans do, and I have enough control over my schedule to stretch my lunch break an extra hour every few days,” Jim replied as he pulled out the shoes he had been looking for and moved over to a chair to put them on. “And the High King’s planning to visit Vulcan this summer, and I’m going to tag along and stay an extra week or so.” He shrugged. “We’re making it work.”

“Good. I’d hate to see this bond of yours broken because of somethin’ like distance,” Bones said. “You’re good for each other.” There was a warmth in his friend’s voice that was rarely so evident, and Jim couldn’t help but smile. “Now come on, we’re gonna be late,  _ my prince _ .”

. . .

The differences between the dinner and ball that Spock had attended on his first day on Earth and the one he was at now fascinated him. In truth, there was very little about the proceedings that were different. The meals were just as appealing, as was the conversation, his hosts just as polite, if a little warmer, toward him. This time, however, he sat by Jim’s side, and that made everything different in ways he couldn’t quite name.

It was glorious.

Eventually, the meal ended, and King George stood, much as he done that day months before when he had welcomed Spock and his father to Earth. This time, however, instead of the carefully-nuanced tone of a diplomat, the man’s words were those of a proud father who delighted in his son’s health and happiness.

“As many of you know, multiple attempts were made on my son’s life over the last three months,” he stated, addressing the room as a whole. It was crowded, slightly more so than it had been when Spock had first arrived, and those present seemed eager to hear what their king had to say. “What some of you may not know, however, that those attempts would have succeeded if not for the aid of Lord Spock.” 

Spock gazed expressionlessly at the crowd, nodding in respect and acknowledgment to the king, knowing he was not expected to speak at present. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim grin, and it suddenly became difficult to prevent his cheeks from heating. The bond in his mind glowed brightly with pride and gratitude that matched the man’s open expression. 

“It is only thanks to his quick thinking that Prince James is alive today, for which I can never thank him enough.” The king turned, locking eyes with Spock, and in those eyes, he saw the truth of his words. The last time he had thanked him, Spock had insisted that his gratitude was unnecessary, and it was, but seeing it reflected in the man’s eyes touched Spock in a way he had not expected. This man had trusted him with Jim’s life and now with Jim’s heart, and all Spock could do was nod once more, praying the king understood.

“However, the time has come for Lord Spock to leave us and return to his home on Vulcan, and so tonight we celebrate both him and Earth’s enduring friendship with the Vulcan people.” At those words, the people let out a cheer, and this time, Spock couldn’t quite keep his cheeks from flushing the faintest but green. He turned to Jim as workers began to move the tables aside to make room for the people to dance, and his t’hy’la’s smile made even the glittering chandeliers above them seem dim. 

“I know I’ve said this already, Spock, and that repeating myself is illogical, but thank you for everything you’ve done,” he said as he stood. “Even if I had managed to survive being poisoned by some miracle, I would have gone insane without you to keep me focused during the investigation and everything that followed.”

Instead of reminding Jim that his thanks were as unnecessary as they had been the first time he had given them, Spock sent a gentle pulse of affection across their bond. “You are most welcome, ashayam.”

Jim’s smile grew, and he shook his head lightly. “I’m so lucky to have you. Now, this is your last ball on Earth, let’s make it a good one.”

. . .

For the first hour or so, Jim and Spock drifted among the guests. They didn’t stay side by side the entire time, but they were never far, and every time Jim caught a glimpse of the Vulcan out of the corner of his eye, elegant midnight robes brushing against the marble floor as he walked, his heart skipped a beat. Spock was gorgeous, and Jim was torn between staring at him all night and kissing him senseless in the middle of the room where everyone could see that Spock was  _ his  _ and that he was  _ Spock’s. _ In the end, he did neither of those things, instead chatting with various friends and members of the court as he made his way around the room.

Eventually, he found himself by Bones’ side. The doctor was standing a ways away from the dance floor, a small smile on his lips as he sipped his drink thoughtfully. When Jim came to a stop next to him, he nodded in acknowledgment and drained the rest of his glass before saying, “You know if we were in the South, everyone’d be line dancing right now.”

“Even you?” Jim asked with a chuckle, trying in vain to picture his friend kicking his heels up to an old country song. He could count the number of times he had seen Bones dance on one hand, and the man had been attending balls like this one for  _ years. _

To his surprise, Bones nodded. “It’s a cardinal sin not ta dance to at least one line dance in a night. Besides, can’t mess up a line dance, not really. Just have to watch for a little while—it’s just a pattern.”

Jim shook his head. “I’d give good money to see you line dance,” he stated, grinning, “but I don’t think any of our players know the kind of song you’d need.”

Bones didn’t reply to that, and they fell into a comfortable silence for a time. Jim’s eyes quickly found Spock on the other side of the room talking to Lady Uhura, and he grinned. The woman was sharp as a whip and brilliant; Spock would enjoy her company more than most of the other people here. Plus, Uhura might be able to convince him to dance, and Jim would get to watch his t’hy’la spin across the—

“I submitted my Starfleet Academy application.” 

Jim blinked, his mind not processing the sudden, unexpected words. “You what?”

“I applied to the Academy,” Bones repeated, turning his head to look at Jim. “Turned it in a week or so ago.”

A million different thoughts and questions ran through Jim’s mind, but the only thing he could get his mouth to say was, “Huh. I guess that means you got over your fear of space.”

Bones snorted and shook his head. “Not even close, but while I was travelin’ I had a lot of time to think, and I realized you were right. I could do more good, reach more people, in Starfleet. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Jim.”

That snapped Jim out of his daze. “Don’t be. I’m glad you figured out what you want to do,” he said, and he meant it, even if his chest did feel a little hollower at the thought of his best friend leaving to explore space while he was bound by his duties as a prince, confined to the walls of the palace. “Are you taking any summer courses, or are you starting in the fall?”

“Fall. I’ve got work to finish here, and I have to find and train someone to replace me that can memorize the novel of a list of your allergies,” Bones replied. “Can’t have you keeling over without me.”

Jim grinned halfheartedly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “I really am happy for you, Bones, but I’m going to miss you. Between you, Spock, and Laura, it’s going to be too quiet here. Even Lady Uhura’s leaving for the Academy.”

Bones gazed at him for a long minute, guilt warring with something else in his eyes. Then, he asked, “Have you tried talking your old man into letting you go to the Academy?”

“No,” Jim answered, shaking his head and looking past Bones at the place where Spock stood, silhouetted by the light streaming in from the gardens through the stained glass window. “I was going to, but now that it’s a possibility that Spock can get an ambassadorial position on Earth in a few years...I don’t want to leave him, Bones. What’s the point in exploring space if I can’t share it with him?”

There wasn’t an answer to that question that would seal the hole in his heart, and Bones stayed silent, understanding that. Eventually, Bones clapped him on the arm and then walked away, heading for Lady Man on the opposite side of the room.

Jim was still thinking about Starfleet and Spock and what their future on Earth would look like when the Vulcan approached, moving so softly that Jim didn’t notice him until Spock placed a gentle hand on his arm. He started and looked up, reading concern in the slight draw of Spock’s eyebrows.

“There is something troubling you,” he stated softly, and Jim didn’t bother to question how he knew there was something wrong. Spock had told him before that he tended to unconsciously project his emotions, so he wasn’t surprised that the after-effects of his conversation leaked through to Spock’s side of the bond.

“It’s nothing important, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Jim soothed, pushing away the negative emotions that had settled over his mind. “Tonight is for you; I want you to enjoy it.” Spock looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but he didn’t, which Jim was grateful for. 

For a few moments, they stood in silence, and Jim leaned into the warmth that Spock projected. It was probably improper of him to do so, but Spock didn’t step away, and he could feel contentment thrumming along the strands of their bond. Jim could stand like this for a lifetime, simply basking in Spock’s presence as the world passed away around them, and it would be a life well spent.

He was about to offer to get them both drinks when the song that the band was playing changed to something much slower, more romantic, and suddenly there was nothing Jim needed more than Spock in his arms—or him in Spock’s arms, he wasn’t picky—gliding slowly over the dance floor. Spock must have sensed the change in his mood, for he extended a gloved hand and bowed slightly, the ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance, my prince?” he asked, his voice deep and rich, the kind of sound Jim could drown in.

“Of course,” he replied, sliding their fingers together in a brief ozh’esta before taking the Vulcan’s hand and allowing himself to be led to the dance floor where a number of other couples had gathered, swaying slowly to the elegant music.

For a while, they were silent, drifting across the floor with an ease that made Jim feel as if he were a ghost. Spock’s hand entwined with his and the one placed lightly at his waist grounded him, though, and he let the last of the doubt and dismay fade from his mind, focusing instead on the feeling of Spock dancing across from him, gazing at him as if the secrets of the universe lay in his eyes.

They were halfway through a graceful turn when an idea popped into Jim’s head, bursting to life like a star with a sudden brightness that nearly caused him to miss the next step. When he was back in Spock’s arms again, the Vulcan opened his mouth—no doubt to question where Jim’s mind had run off to—when Jim blurted, “Apply for Starfleet Academy with me.” He blushed furiously but pressed on, needing to lay out his argument before Spock told him all of the reasons why that was an illogical and irresponsible idea.

“I know my father would let me apply now after everything, and I know you wanted to join the Academy a few years ago before your father convinced you to join the VSA instead. I know what you’re really interested in isn’t being stuck on some planet somewhere ironing out political drama; you want to stretch the edges of the known universe and learn everything there is to learn about what goes on out there and why—you’d make a fabulous science officer.” He let out a small sigh, leaning into Spock’s touch even more. “And I want to explore, Spock. I want to touch the stars and discover new planets and new cultures and face the unknown and make it known. We belong on the bridge of a starship, Spock.”

To Jim’s surprise, Spock didn’t immediately shoot him down. Instead, he led Jim through another turn, and only when they were facing each other once again—they were less than six inches apart now, swaying more than dancing—did he say, “It would be difficult to convince my father to allow me to abandon my studies at the Vulcan Science Academy, and there is no guarantee that even if we were both accepted to the Academy and both obtained positions on starships that we would be stationed together.”

Jim refused to be discouraged. “Your father can’t live your life for you. If you want to join Starfleet, he can’t stop you. And you’re right, there’s no guarantee we’ll be on the same ship, but I can tell you that Starfleet would have to be stupid to separate us for long. We’d make an excellent team. I can feel it.” He smiled softly, watching as Spock’s mind ran through the pros and cons of Jim’s suggestion; he could almost see the instant the Vulcan made his decision.

“It is not entirely logical, but I believe that our destiny lies among the stars, t’hy’la. I cannot explain it, but I know that it is true,” Spock murmured finally, leaning in until their foreheads touched, sending a pleasant jolt of electricity racing down Jim’s spine.

“So?” Jim asked as the music came to an end, leaving them standing still in the middle of the ballroom, heedless of the other dancers that began to walk off of the floor. “Will you apply for the Academy with me, Lord Spock? Sail the stars at my side?”

“I would follow you to the ends of the very universe itself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a short little epilogue, but this is basically the end. If you liked it, please let me know! Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the voyages...

Jim stared out at the blackness of space, watching the stars move sluggishly across the viewer. It made him feel so small, seeing the magnificence of stars and planets and nebulae up close—he loved it. Starfleet could order him to explore the vast reaches of the universe for the next thirty years, and he had a feeling he would never tire of this view. 

The door to the observation deck slid open, and he knew without turning who had walked in. He stayed facing the window as Spock strode up to him, stopping when they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, and as they stood there, simply gazing at the stars and basking in one another’s presence, Jim had to amend his previous thought. Yes, space was gorgeous, but it was nothing compared to the man who stood at his side. Without Spock, all the stars in the universe couldn’t tempt him to stay. 

A quiet hum of affection tingled across the bond, and Jim smiled, shifting so that he could rest his head on Spock’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe they gave the Enterprise to us,” he whispered after a few moments, still gazing out at the darkness that surrounded them. “And for five whole years, Spock!”

They had been on the Enterprise, Jim as the captain and Spock doubling as both his chief science officer and his first officer, for a little under two months now, and yet every time Jim stepped on the bridge and saw Spock standing at his console it felt like the first time. He had a ship, the best crew in the entire universe—they had even let him drag Bones away from the planet-bound research department to be his CMO—and Spock, and there were days he thought it was all too good to be true.

“I must admit, I had believed that the five-year mission would be given to a more experienced captain, but I find myself grateful that you were chosen, and that Starfleet allowed you to appoint me as your First Officer,” Spock stated, his voice rumbling in Jim’s ear. 

“Yeah, well, I may or may not have threatened to reject the captaincy if they refused to let you on the ship,” Jim replied with a chuckle, lifting his head to look Spock in the eyes. “Besides, if they didn’t let you on, it would have completely ruined my wedding present to you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe that most people would consider an appointment to a starship an appropriate wedding present,” he said dryly, but Jim could see the way the corner of his mouth was twitching upward. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss there, delighting in the thrum of joy and affection that washed over the bond as he did so.

“We aren’t most people.”

“No,” Spock whispered, “we are not.”

They slipped back into silence then, and Jim turned his attention back to the viewer, although he didn’t truly see the stars in front of him when he did so. Instead, his mind conjured a memory of the hot sands of Vulcan, Spock kneeling across from him, looking radiant in his flowing white robes as a Vulcan healer placed her hands on both of their faces and joined their minds forevermore. He could still remember the way it had felt, like he was finally coming home. He and Spock had been in one another’s minds before, of course, but this was different. This time, the bond glowed so brightly it could have been a supernova. And it hadn’t dimmed since. Sure, he and Spock both shielded sometimes, especially when they were both on duty, but it was always there, glowing warmly in the back of Jim’s mind. He had never felt so complete.

“I love you, Spock,” he said suddenly, grabbing his bondmate’s hand and arranging their fingers into an ozh’esta, pouring his love through the bond as he gazed up into Spock’s eyes. “I still don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but I am so glad I have you in my life.”

Spock brought his other hand up to cover their fingers, brushing his fingers over the silver wedding band Jim wore as he did so. “Taluhk nash-veh k'dular 1 , t’hy’la.” Jim sighed happily and turned so that he could rest his head on Spock’s chest, the material of the Vulcan’s uniform tickling his cheek as he did so. Spock’s hands untangled themselves from Jim’s and came up to encircle him, pulling him close. They stayed that way for several moments, and Jim allowed his eyes to slip closed, as he listened to Spock’s steady breathing.

Eventually, the Vulcan shifted, unwrapping his arms from Jim’s waist. “Come, ashayam, you require rest if you are to function at optimal performance levels at tomorrow’s negotiation,” he reminded gently. Jim nodded tiredly. He had meant to sleep earlier, but Spock had been working late in the labs, and the bed felt too empty without him in it. 

“Only if you join me,” he said. He tried to sound commanding, but the yawn that followed his words ruined the effect and caused Spock’s eyebrow to raise even as another smile tugged at his lips.

“Of course.” Spock tilted Jim’s head down slightly, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then, he took Jim’s hand in his own and led them through the hallways of the Enterprise, of their home. A few Ensigns smiled warmly at them as they passed, but Jim barely noticed. Sleep was beginning to overtake him now, and by the time they reached their shared quarters, Spock was practically carrying him.

The door opened with a soft hiss, and a few minutes later, Jim was laying tucked into the bed, his boots and shirt gone, although he couldn’t remember taking them off. Then, Spock settled in beside him, and Jim sighed contentedly, curling into the Vulcan’s side as Spock pulled the covers over them both.

Jim fell asleep to Spock’s fingers in his hair, his t’hy’la’s voice lulling him to sleep with promises of a lifetime together in the stars. And honestly? Jim couldn’t ask for anything more.

1 **Taluhk nash-veh k'dular--I cherish thee**

**Author's Note:**

> I love and adore any and all comments! Thank you for reading!


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